Heartbeat
by Emmeebee
Summary: Four years after the Battle for Hogwarts, Harry is still struggling to reconcile himself with the loss of his beloved girlfriend, even as he is forced to hold himself together so that he can be a good godfather and guardian to Teddy (AU).
1. Sit and Stare

He stares at the wall. Little cracks run through the paintwork, and he can't help but think that it's what his heart would look like, too, if he were able to see it in front of him. They both started off so immaculate, but time took its toll on them both, eroding them until they were nothing but a dull mess. Years ago, when he first realised he was in love with Ginny, he dreamed about fixing up 12 Grimmauld Place, of moving in there with her and making it the home it never was. Reconstructing the Blacks' ancestral home until it was nothing at all like the place that had once haunted Sirius had seemed like the perfect homage to his late godfather, but that's now a dream of the past. He may live there, but Ginny never will, and the process of renovating seems too entrenched in the normalcy he has never had and most likely will never have. He and the rest of the Weasleys did go through to baby-proof and toddler-proof the house so it would be safe for Teddy, but, other than redecorating one of the bedrooms for the boy, that's all he's had done to it since her death.

Mood swings are normal to him now. They've gone from being the unfortunate result of hormones interacting with the Horcrux in his head to being the result of a life forever shadowed by death. The day can be going well, but then a flash of crimson hair or a wry joke will remind him of what happened and bring him crashing back down. He can usually hold it in – he has to, for Teddy's sake; Andromeda isn't up to raising such an energetic toddler, so he's been doing it one slow day at a time – but it's building up, always building up, and every now and again he just needs to be alone to let it all out. When it does, he always asks Andromeda or Hermione or Molly to mind Teddy for a day or two while he falls apart all over again.

Like today.

Some days, days like this, are worse than others. It the fifth anniversary of their first kiss, of that day when she ran across the common room to him, her eyes blazing as she collided with him without a caring in the world of what others might think of the display. It's the fifth anniversary, and he can't get the memory of that searing kiss, and of each and every kiss that followed it, out of his head.

Knuckles rap against the door, and his first instinct is to leave whomever it is to their knocking.

 _It's all they do, really,_ he thinks. People knock at his barriers, expecting that they'll one day fall down and reveal the person he once was, tired from being cooped up for so long but still _there_ and normal, and now they knock at his door, too, apparently.

He decides to leave it; his close friends would just Apparate inside, Andromeda would Floo in if there were an issue with Teddy, and no one else really matters anymore. Besides, Kreacher can get it if he wants to.

"Harry?" Hermione's voice calls out, and sounds like she's much closer than he thought. Detachedly, he supposes that it's the Amplification Charm at work again; the front door has been charmed to amplify the sound of knocking so that Kreacher can hear it from any place in the house, but that makes it easy to mistake it for other noises. "Is it alright if I come in?"

"Yeah."

"I wanted to give you the chance to be alone," she explains as she enters and pulls a few bottles of firewhiskey out of her bag before placing them on the table in front of him. She settles in next to him, a bottle in her hand, and stares at the same patch of wall he's been spending most of his day studying.

"Thank you," he murmurs. "Don't you have a date with Ron?"

"I cancelled." The response is succinct, and he appreciates it. Rambling irritates him more often than not at times like this. "I'd rather be here."

"Thank you," he repeats. "I could never repay you for everything you've done."

She doesn't bother with platitudes about how it's a small repayment for everything he's done for the wizarding world, or about how she'll always be there for him. Instead, she simply says, "Friendship doesn't have a tally card."

"I know. I just want you to know I'm grateful."

Together, they sit and stare.


	2. Toy Castles

"He's going to be late," Fred whispers as they sit on the floor of the living room, building multi-coloured Lego castles with Teddy only to have the energetic toddler knock them back down again as he cackles gleefully. "Should we tell him?"

"I think he wants to be late," Hermione admits. "Sort of as if he wants to sabotage himself. I might go up to talk to him, though, if you're right with Teddy."

Fred grins at her, speaking loudly and animatedly and focusing on the boy. "Am I alright with Teddy? More like, will you be alright without him? We'll be fine if Auntie Mione goes upstairs to talk to Uncle Harry for a bit, won't we, Teddy-boy?"

Teddy nods, too busy rebuilding the castle to bother replying. She ruffles his hair as she passes him, sharing a sad smile with Fred over the top of his head. It hurts, sometimes, to see him play like this and know that Remus and Tonks never got the chance to do so, but it's hard to stay melancholy for long around him or else they'd shake themselves out of it only to find that he's gone off and found something dangerous to do in that special, innocent way that toddlers seem to excel at.

"Harry? Can I come in?"

The lock unclicks, and Harry's voice replies warily, "If you want to."

Upon entry, mayhem meets her eyes. Clothes and pieces of balled-up parchment are strewn across the bed and floor, various drawers are hanging open as if the place was ransacked, and Harry is sitting in his desk chair looking shaken and close to tears. As she takes in the room, he lays his wand back down on the desk next to him, instead picking up a stress ball they'd been given at a promotional event they'd had to attend and tossing it around ceaselessly. She knows it's a show for her to convince her he's struggling to find something to wear but is fine – he often tries and fails at juggling for Teddy's amusement, so he's been practicing lately so he can get it and teach his godson how to do it one day – but it looks too mechanical, too unfeeling, for it to work the way he wants it to. Instead, it draws even more attention to the sense of hollowness he's unknowingly projecting.

"Harry, are you alright?"

"Yeah; I've got this."

"I like the redecorating, then," she jokes. "What influences did you draw on? Abstract art?"

He puffs out air in dull, half-hearted amusement. "If anyone could view this as anything other than a mess, I'd be surprised."

He falls silent again, and, this time, she waits him out. They've both grown comfortable with silence over the past few years; at this point, it's the sort of thing you're either at ease with or haunted by. And, after all, it's significantly better than loud crowds and bright lights, and the terrors they bring. As she watches him, she realises that, maybe, silences aren't as soothing for him as he's made them out to be; he treats it as a friend, but maybe its allure is more of the self-flagellating nature.

"This feels like a betrayal," he eventually says.

"Your date with Bree? Harry, it's been a really long time. Ginny wouldn't expect or even want – "  
"We were supposed to wait for one another," he cuts in. "Until the war was over. We were going to pick things back up again after the war. We were going to wait."

"She wouldn't want you to wait forever," she points out. Seeing that it hasn't gotten through to him, she adds, "Fred is here. If he were bothered by this, if he thought you were betraying Ginny by this, I assure you he'd have let both of us know it in no uncertain terms."

"He would, wouldn't he?" Harry murmurs, mostly to himself now. "He would do something so I'd start babbling or feeling sick during the date or something."

"Come on," Hermione says. "Let's get you ready."


	3. Troll Piggybacks and Dumb Luck

Laughter fills up the small living room as they struggle to catch their breaths, both vividly picturing the events of that October day in their minds. It's the first time Hermione has told someone other than Ginny about it, and she's glad she has. The memory is so precious to her – so much so that the idea of sharing it used to seem, in some way, sacrilegious, as if the other person might somehow ruin it by not appreciating it as much as she does – but telling Fred about it has made her see it afresh. He keeps saying, "You're kidding," as if he honestly expects her to reveal that they had in fact befriended one another in some other, much more mundane, way, and she keeps shaking her head and insisting that it's the complete and utter truth. Previously, she viewed it with fond embarrassment; now, she's able to laugh at it and at how stupid they were back then, spurred on by Fred's obvious incredulity.

"I don't even know why they didn't just tell Percy or Professor McGonagall," Hermione finally manages to say in between chortles. "They didn't even have to say why I was in the bathroom to begin with; they could've just said I'd left the feast to go to the loo and wasn't back yet."

"Logic," he replies prosaically with the composure of somebody who is well versed in personal reflection, "has never been our house's strong point, and Harry and Ron are a prime example of that. I thought you'd have realised that after all the time you've spent with them over the years."

Grabbing a pillow, she whacks lightly him in the chest. "Hey," she objects, protesting on behalf of both her and her friends.

Still, he soldiers on. "Besides, you were pretty stupid too; why on Earth did you try to lie to Quirrell, McGonagall and _Snape_ about it? There's no way didn't notice. Besides, Harry and Ron would have gotten into less trouble for panicking and then forgetting to tell a professor than you would have for purposefully disobeying one."

Shrugging awkwardly, she replies, "Ron thought I'd be a terrible friend, and I wanted to prove him wrong."

Noticing her discomfort, Fred decides not to push the topic; he doesn't want to push her self-consciousness so far that she reverts to her past, validation-hungry self. However endearing it might be when she gets slightly flustered, he knows that going any further would just run the risk of ruining the rest of their evening. "So, that was when Ronnikins learned his first spell?" he asks, wanting to shift the attention from her to his brother.

Her expression twitches defiantly, and he can tell that the derisive nickname irritates her, but she lets it go. That's one of the things he appreciates about their friendship; it's clear when she disapproves of something, but she seems determined not to interfere with the little squabbles that are so idiosyncratic of Weasley family dynamics. Besides, he can see the gratitude that flits across her face at the well-timed change of topic. "Yeah, it was. I'm sure you can imagine our amusement when Professor Flitwick revised it in class the next day. We pretended that we were levitating clubs instead of quills. Speaking of," she adds sternly, "telling him that spell would turn Scabbers yellow was cruel."

He descends into another fit of laughter that has her struggling to keep a straight face. "Maybe, but he believed it, didn't he? By eleven, he should've known that spells aren't little rhyming English ditties. That's one of the oldest pranks in the book."

"You know, I think someone got Seamus, too," Hermione says. "Something about rum."

"Water to rum? That would've been Lee's doing. He bet us a galleon that he'd be able to find someone who'd fall for that; he was sure that wishful thinking would outweigh common sense."

As much as she likes Seamus, Hermione has to admit that that's a good description of him. He has never quite learned that doing the same thing over and over again _won't_ suddenly result in a vastly different outcome. "Did you take him up on it?"

"Nah. Knew there'd be some first year who'd fall for it. George did, though."

After a few minutes of companionable silence, Hermione admits, "I can't think of trolls anymore without picturing Harry jumping on its back. I'd say he ruined them for me, but…"

"But he did the exact opposite?"

"Yeah."

They manage to hold themselves in for a few seconds, but then Fred sniggers, and that starts them up again like stray sparks near petrol. "I'm sorry," he says, "it's just – it's just so _fitting_ that you lot became friends over something crazy like that."

"I know, right? 'Sheer dumb luck' is what Professor McGonagall called it. She gave them points for Gryffindor for 'sheer dumb luck'. If she'd realised how accurate a descriptor that would be for the rest of our lives, she mightn't have been so willing to reward it."

The front door creaks open, and they look up to find Harry coming home from his date. "How was it?" Fred asks, his voice completely neutral. Throughout the course of their vigil, Hermione and Fred discussed their approach to his return, deciding not to let their personal feelings colour their reactions to Harry's interpretation of his evening. Now, Fred can't help but feel like a parent greeting their oldest child after his first date.

"Not great. It wasn't as uncomfortable as I expected, but not great. Is Teddy asleep?"

"Yeah, we put him to bed two hours ago."

"Well, we _tried_ to put him to bed two hours ago. Apparently Fred's adventures are too interesting to make for good bedtime stories; it was a whole hour before Teddy would let us leave – "

"It's not my fault I'm such a good storyteller!"

" – the room. He _was_ asleep when we looked in on him ten minutes later, though."

"I need a shower, anyway. I'll look in on him while I'm upstairs," Harry says, making his way to the staircase. "So, what were you guys cracking up about when I came in?"

"Troll piggybacks and sheer dumb luck," Fred says with an impressively straight face.

* * *

A/N: I still can't fully believe it, but we have a new Prime Minister. I'm kind of torn between thinking that it's been a long time coming and thinking that it's kind of disconcerting to see how much we suck at keeping a Prime Minister in for their full term. I mean, we even _lost_ one once.

Anyway, in relation to the chapter, I purposefully went with the movie version because the phrase 'sheer dumb luck' basically epitomises Harry, Ron and Hermione's success in my mind. Also, as mentioned on my profile page, some personal things have been happening that have taken priority over fanfic, but I'm hoping that I will be able to get back to writing regularly again soon.


	4. Breaking the Pattern

A/N: I just realised I accidentally marked this story as complete! It's not. I'm not exactly sure where or how long this will end up, but it's still going.

Also, thank you again to half fare prince for your lovely review.

* * *

Yelling reverberates through the house, its anger seeping into every little nook and cranny. Hiding away in his bedroom like the coward Voldemort once insisted he was, Harry merely plays with the Snitch the twins bought him as a graduation present as he waits for it to end. As much as he hates it, fleeing at the first sign of an argument has become normal for him. It has become so commonplace that he's starting to feel like the kid whose parents are on the brink of divorce; he wishes he could just stick his head in the sand and pretend that nothing's wrong, but he can't ignore the issues building up around him. However much Ron and Hermione might love one another, their relationship is the most explosive thing he has ever seen. The littlest things can set them off, leaving Harry to scramble out of the way lest he be caught in their crossfire. He keeps thinking they'll get better with time, but it's just becoming worse and more frequent as the tension accumulates.

 _At least Teddy's with Andromeda today,_ he thinks. Harry usually casts privacy charms before taking his godson away to a quiet room to wait it out, but it's much easier to endure the fighting when it doesn't make him question the kind of example they're setting for the young boy.

Plus, Teddy's absence means that Harry can forgo the charms. As much as he would like to stay out of their private business, it's always easier to deal with the aftermath without them. Listening in lets him know when he should go down to help clean up the emotional messes left behind; it helps him work out the gist of the problem; and it shows him which friend needs his presence the most. There are, he has discovered, patterns to all of it; it's usually the same or similar arguments repeated over and over again like the swirling blades of a fan, and Hermione heads to her room if she's sad or the library if she's mad, while Ron almost unfailingly wants someone to rant to afterwards.

This time, the tiff is about Ron's decision to resign from the joke shop. Work has, Harry has come to notice, been a recurring theme in their fights for a few weeks now. Apparently, in Hermione's mind, dropping out of Auror training after choosing it over school was exasperating but understandable, but quitting this job without having worked out his long term plans is just irresponsible. She insists that it's a bad move, and Ron is adamant that it's a necessary one, and neither of them seem willing to let it drop without convincing the other of their views.

 _Why can't they both just let it go?_ Harry wonders, wishing they didn't always come to Grimmauld Place to argue. Even though Ron, unlike Hermione, decided to stay in his childhood home after the war, they always meet at the old Order headquarters when they want privacy to fight or to… do things Harry doesn't like to think of them doing.

Their voices grow ever louder, cutting through his thoughts until they, like a breaking wave, finally crash though the sound barriers the trio put up around Walburga Black's portrait. The privacy and muffling charms usually mean that she can neither hear nor be heard by them, but some fights, like this one, are so loud that those protective layers fail. Thus alerted by the sound, the portrait decides to join in, adding her biting insults and shrill complaints to the cacophony of noise. It's nowhere near as loud as the fight itself, but it's still almost enough to convince Harry to leave the house for a few hours.

" _PUSHY?_ HOW IS IT _PUSHY_ TO WANT YOU TO ACTUALLY COMMIT TO SOMETHING FOR LONGER THAN A YEAR?"

" _Mudbloods – blood traitors – upstart rebels_ _–_ "

"WHAT ELSE WOULD YOU CALL YOUR CONSTANT NAGGING?"

"WANTING YOU NOT TO WASTE YOUR _WHOLE LIFE_ DRIFTING BECAUSE YOUR'E TOO SCARED TO EVER PUSH PAST THE INITIAL HARD SLOG! _CARING_!"

" _Polluting this place with their presence – contaminating it with their filth – "_

"You know what? I TAKE IT BACK. I don't care what you'd call it! JUST STOP IT!"

"YOU WANT ME TO STOP CARING?"

"I WANT YOU TO STOP _NAGGING_!"

"FINE, THEN! I'LL STOP! I QUIT! This is obviously not working anymore, Ronald. THIS IS _OVER_."

And so the wave, finally crested, hits Harry's lonely beach and washes away the sand, leaving him defenceless against truth of the situation. A stunned silence takes over the house as Harry – and, he's sure, the others – realise the enormity of Hermione's words.

Amplified by the sudden hush, a door slowly groans open. It crosses Harry's mind that even it, this inanimate object with neither feelings nor thoughts, is reacting to the situation. Within moments, however, the muted but venomous, _"Mudbloods – blood traitors – upstart rebels – "_ starts up again, taking advantage of the erstwhile silence.

Almost instinctively, Harry jumps up from his bed and hurries downstairs, ready to once again play medic for his feuding best friends.

 _It isn't supposed to be like this,_ Harry thinks as he barrels into the hallway, almost crashing into Hermione at the foot of the stairs. _None of us were supposed to end up like this. Ron and Hermione were supposed to be happy; Teddy was supposed to know his parents; Ginny was supposed to –_

"Hermione?" he asks, keeping the question open so she can take her answer wherever she wants.

"I'm over it," she replies, but her voice is stiff and hurt, and she looks lost in a way he's ever seen her before.

"That's a lie."

"But I'll get there." Appearing to notice his concerned expression, she adds, "We couldn't keep going on like that; it would just destroy us. It's really is better this way. Look, Harry, I appreciate you being here, but I really need to be alone right now. We can talk about things later, alright?"

"Just remember I'm here if you need me."

As she starts to trudge up the stairs, Harry makes his way over to the living room door and softly raps his knuckles against it.

"Yeah?" Ron's voice sounds small, broken, as if it's a vase that has been dropped and shattered but is trying to hold flowers anyway.

"Can I come in?"

"It's just you?"

"Yeah. She's upstairs."

The most heartbreaking thing is that Harry can't tell if Ron is relieved or disappointed when he responds with a quiet, "Sure."


	5. Bittersweet

A/N: I went back and adjusted how long it has been since the war. I don't have much experience with little kids, so I'm not concerning myself too much with making sure that Teddy is at the right point developmentally, but he did seem to be speaking much too clearly for a two-year-old, so I pushed it back two years to make that fit better.

* * *

"Uncle Harry, Uncle Harry. Auntie Mynee. Look what I can do." The sound of small feet pattering across the floor fills the living room as the four-year-old rushes through the open door.

Hermione and Harry both look up from the map spread out on the floor in front of them. A sheet of plastic, covered with bright crosses and squiggly lines, rests atop it. Itineraries, Harry is discovering, aren't easy to create. Even a holiday as simple as taking Teddy on a road trip is proving time consuming. Hermione, ever the perfectionist, wants each detail to be organised so as to ensure that it runs smoothly, and Harry is equally invested in the process despite his own inexperience with the things.

"We're watching."

"Keep looking," the boy insists. "Don't even blink."

"We'll watch you like a hawk," Harry promises, and they precede to do just that.

To Hermione's confusion, however, the boy inexplicably squeezes his eyes shut and scrunches up his face. Her gaze subconsciously flicks over to Harry for a fraction of a second before focusing back on the toddler. That brief glance alone is enough to tell her that her best friend is as in the dark as she is. Teddy's expression looks much like it did when he used to soil his nappy, but the boy is long past that stage by now.

A minute later, however, things start to change. Teddy's pale hair darkens and thickens as his tight curls grow wilder and messier. His face thins out, growing scrawnier than he has ever been. And, when he opens his eyes, they're a vibrant green instead of the light blue Hermione has grown used to seeing staring up at him.

The resemblance is striking and unmistakeable, and she can't help but look between her two companions in shock as she compares their features

"See?" Teddy asks, pride lacing his voice. "I done it! I look like you, Uncle Harry!"

"Yeah," Harry says, sounding shell-shocked. "You do."

"That was very impressive," Hermione adds despite feeling a pang of sadness as the distant memory of a young woman changing her nose into a pig's snout crosses her mind. "Did you learn to do that while you were upstairs?"

"Yes," he replies. "I done it without trying. Then I pic – _pic_ tured Uncle Harry and done it again."

Finally finding his metaphorical feet, Harry says, "I'm so proud of you. Do you think Auntie Mione should take a photo of us and add it to the album?"

Enthusiasm lights up the boy's face, and he nods eagerly. "Yes."

Harry nonverbally summons the camera before turning back to examine his godson's appearance again. _It really is uncanny._ The boy's Metamorphagus abilities have been showing up at random for a while now, but this is the first time he has managed to control it for anything longer than a few seconds.

And, although Harry, Hermione, the Weasleys and Hagrid have all been frequent sources of inspiration for his ability, it has never before been this major of a change. Rainbow streaks and Rudolph red noses in no way prepared him for this.

"You really are a clever boy."

"Stop trying to get him into Ravenclaw," Harry chides Hermione good-naturedly. She, it seems, has decided that the house of the eagles would be the best place for him; according to her, it would provide him with opportunities without throwing him headfirst into the dangers that the house of the lions is so often entangled with.

"I'm not – this time," she protests as the camera finally flies into view. Harry grabs it and passes it to her as she adds, "I'm just saying what a clever boy he is."

"I'm clever," Teddy declares with the blunt lack of self-consciousness of a four-year-old.

Beckoning for Teddy to follow him to the lounge, Harry replies, "Yes, you are."

The two wizards huddle up together with broad smiles on their faces as Hermione starts taking a string of photos. The trick with photographing Teddy, they have found, is to take as many pictures as possible in the hopes that one of them will end up alright. Unlike with Muggle pictures, the issue isn't making sure that his eyes are open and he's smiling and he's looking in the right direction; the problem is making sure that the split second immortalised in the image is one where he's in a good mood rather than getting distracted by food or an itchy nose.

As Hermione snaps away with the camera and his little lookalike sticks his tongue out from his perch at his side, Harry feels a rush of renewed empathy for Sirius. Even now, when he doesn't look a thing like them, Teddy is still so like his parents. Their natural curiosity and humour never fails to show through whatever he might be doing at the time, serving as a constant reminder of his parents and their tragically short lives. He can't imagine how hard it must have been for Sirius to grapple with Harry's presence; the Animagus always welcomed him, but it must have been difficult for him to be constantly torn between wanting to be there for Harry and struggling with being reminded by his late friends every time he saw the young Gryffindor.

"Harry, your smile is slipping," Hermione prompts.

He feels Teddy's fingers digging into his side as the boy, so used to Fred and George's tactics, tries to tickle a smile out of him, and a fond grin stretches across his face once more.

Wanting to be there for him, indeed; the similarities hurt sometimes, but it's impossible not to love Teddy.


	6. Reminiscing

A/N: I meant to upload this yesterday, but I was too exhausted from uni and NaNoWriMo to do much of anything in the evening. While I hope to reach 50k again this year, it's going to be a much slower process. I'm trying to use it to make headway on different fics, starting with this one, but the impulse to edit is just refusing to go away, and the short chapter length is making things choppy.

Binka Fudge: Thank you! I do already know what I want the main pairings to be, but I've decided not to list them in the summary until I've written far enough ahead to know they're definitely going to fit in. If anyone wants me to PM them what I'm currently leaning towards, though, I'm totally fine with doing that. And especially at this age; I think/hope it would become less frequent as Teddy grows up and develops as an individual in his own right.

* * *

A cool breeze flutters in through the open window and dances across their skin. Setting her cutlery aside, Hermione reaches up to brush a piece of dislodged hair out of her eyes, tucking it back in place behind her ear. Noticing the movement, Harry sends a commiserating smile across the table at her; he, more than anyone else she knows, understands the frustration of having unruly hair.

 _At least he isn't judged for it,_ she thinks as she returns the gesture and then shifts her attention back to George. _Apparently, unwieldy hair is unattractive for girls but carelessly cool for boys._

"He really was the best DADA professor we ever had," the redhead is musing as he casually twirls his fork around between his fingers, unaware or uncaring that the little boy sitting next to him is mimicking the motion with far less grace. "And I'm not just saying that because the others were almost all criminals; he was genuinely good at it. Great bloke, too."

"And I still can't believe he was one of _the_ Marauders," Fred chimes in, a look of awe lighting up his face. "I thought he was messing with us at first. It wasn't until he explained the names that I started to believe him."

As if it's a familiar mantra, designed and memorised to inspire, George fondly recites, "Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot and Prongs."

A peculiar expression crosses Harry's face, and Hermione is about to change the subject when Fred cuts in again. "Remus was fantastic, I'll give you that," he says, his face the picture of mischievous anticipation as he sends Hermione a playful wink. "But the best DADA professor? That's a stretch. He was _good_ , of course, but Lockhart was better. Wouldn't you agree… Hermione?"

The matching grins that tease out across the twins' face look innocent, but Hermione knows them better than that; they are both well aware of what they're doing. But, as a startled laugh forces its way out of Harry's mouth, she realises that she can't truly be mad with them. As frustrated as she is at the situation, it's always good to hear her friend laugh. After all that the group has been through, expressions of genuine mirth seem to be few and far between, very occasionally poking its head out in the middle of long periods of melancholy and depression.

Still, she would much rather the joke be about something else. Groaning, she props her elbows on the table and rests her head in the canopy of her entwined hands. "I was twelve! It was just a crush! Besides, you all believed him, too. If you were gay, you would have totally fancied him too."

"But I'm not gay," Fred points out, poking her in the side like a toddler looking for attention, "and we're talking about what was, not what could have been. _You_ were the one with the crush on the fraud."

She shoots him an exasperated glare, but his grin just broadens. Instead, she turns her attention to her snickering best friend. "Oh, _why_ did you have to tell them about that, Harry?"

He has the grace to make an effort to control his chortles, but he fails miserably at it. "It came up," he eventually responds with a shrug. "They asked about the Polyjuice Potion incident."

"It's alright, Hermione," Fred says in a comforting voice that, to everyone who knows him, just screams out that he's up to something. Instead of feeling soothed, Hermione watches him with guarded anticipation – for, despite her caution, part of her is looking forward to finding out his punchline – as she awaits his play. "You're right; it's not your fault. You were just ignorant and naïve. No one can blame you for that; it's just the way everyone is at twelve."

"Thanks for that," she replies dryly, no longer as stung by the idea of being ordinary as she would have been at twelve or fifteen or even seventeen years old. "Hey, why don't we go back to talking about Remus and Tonks? You would like that, wouldn't you, Teddy?" The boy makes eager sounds of affirmation around his mouthful of potato, so she swiftly adds, "Remember how Tonks always used to knock over that umbrella stand, Harry?"

Fred opens his mouth, presumably to tease her some more, but George elbows him before he can speak. After a brief glance at his brother, his thoughtful gaze fixates on hers, and she gets the strange sense that he is checking that he didn't push her too far. Rolling her eyes at the idea that she is still so fragile as to break at the reminder that she too is human, she gives him a slight smile of reassurance, but she is still relieved when he says, "I never could work out how she got into the Auror Academy with coordination like that."

Teddy, food now digested and mouth free to speak, asks, "What were they like?" Despite their determination for him to grow up knowing his birth parents, the adults always find it difficult to actually discuss the past, so he has grown used to seizing any opportunity to find out more that he can.

Setting his own fork aside, Harry replies, "They were two of the best people I ever had the privilege to meet. Your father was kind and good. A lot of bad things happened to him in his life, but he stayed strong and kept laughing. I saw him at his best and at his worst, and he truly was an amazing man." His voice catches as tears start to well up in his eyes, but he manages to continue, "All he wanted in life was to not let those he loved – my dad, me, your mum, _you_ – down."

Teddy watches him with wide eyes as he prompts, "And my mum?"

George's chair scrapes against the floorboards as he leans forward to grab a bread roll from the basket in front of Harry. Before he pulls back, Hermione catches a snippet of a reassuring murmur.

When Harry starts speaking again, he sounds much more composed than he did before. "Your mother," he says with a fond smile, "was hilarious and bright and the friendliest person I ever knew. She's the one you got your Metamorphagus abilities from, you know. She liked to just shift her features ever so slightly while talking to people to see if they picked up on it, or to change them to something ridiculous to try to cheer people up. And she loved you and your father so much. Out of everyone I've met, she shined the brightest."

"Of course, Harry's just focusing on the nice stuff," Fred tells the captivated boy.

"What he's failing to say – "

" – is that your father was as much of a prankster as we are – "

" – and was brilliant at it, too. Your mother wasn't as much of one – "

" – everyone has their flaws – "

" – but she knew how to give as good as she got."

"Tell me," Teddy implores and, despite Harry's look of warning to remind them to tell only age-appropriate stories, Fred and George grin.

"We'd love to," they say together.


	7. To Make Peace

A/N: I've almost finished NaNoWriMo! 4227 words to go. I'm going to be out for most of the day tomorrow, so I won't have any time to write then, but I _will_ get it done in time.

* * *

"The two of you need to sort this thing out," Harry announces one morning over a breakfast of scrambled eggs on toast. The house feels quiet and empty without Teddy, who stayed the night at his grandmother's, but he appreciates the chance to talk to Hermione without interruption. As much as he adores the young boy, he wouldn't want him present for this. "It's getting ridiculous; you haven't talked to one another in months. I talked to the twins about it and they suggested locking you in a room together until you make up – "

Her food is halfway to her mouth when she freezes, looking at him incredulously. "You honestly think that would help? We'd probably end up maiming one another within the first hour."

" – but I vetoed the idea." A sheepish grin spreads across his face, and he admits, "I think they just wanted to see how long it'd take for the two of you to break – and what you'd hex Ron with."

"At least they assume I'd win." She slips the food in her mouth and chews it while she gathers the strength to say, "Speaking of, though, ah… How is Ron?"

Harry hesitates. They've all been avoiding the topic for the most part, not wanting to travel to that awkward place of conversational discomfort. It has made it difficult for him, forcing him to split his time between them. Even though he has resigned himself to it, he can tell that they both still care deeply about and miss one another, and he hates seeing them suffer in silence. "He's been better," he says cautiously, not sure how to best sum up Ron's emotional state, "but he is getting there."

"Good," she replies, relief colouring her tone. "But do you think he would actually be willing to talk? There's no use meeting up with him if he just wants to argue about how wrong I was for dumping him."

His first instinct is to reassure her that he would indeed be ready to talk to her, but he resists the urge and forces himself to think it through first. From what the Auror has said, he does seem healed enough for it. But, then again, he thought they were both ready the last time, too, and that ended with the two of them screaming at one another about whether or not she had been right to end it, so he knows that there is a very good chance that he is wrong this time as well. "I honestly don't know. He wants to talk – he hates this as much as you do – but I don't know if he'd be able to keep calm about it. Or if you would, for that matter."

"I can if he can."

"Then try." Harry shrugs before going back to his meal. "The worst thing that can happen is you'll be even more put out with one another and just keep not talking."

He watches Hermione out of the corner of his eye, not wanting her to feel pressured but impatient for her decision. Her expression is thoughtful as she stares down at her half-empty plate, worrying away at her bottom lip. Regret rushes through him at the sight; if they had held off on the first post-breakup meeting, this one might have been easier for everyone.

Still, as she nods to herself decisively and returns to eating her meal, he can't help but hope that this one will work out better than the last.

 _Surely it can't go any worse._


	8. Renewed Contact

Awkwardness is the word of the get-together. Harry agreed to accompany Hermione so as to help facilitate as necessary, but there's only so much one uncomfortable and unqualified third party mediator can do. No one is yelling, at least, and the pair has not resorted to petty insults and name-calling, so he counts that as something of a win. But, on the whole, it feels as successful as watching paint dry on a cold winter's night. Instead of worrying about how to diffuse explosive fights, Harry should have apparently been preparing to solve the issue of the complete lack of things they had to talk about.

"How's work going?" Ron asks as he scratches at the side of his nose, seemingly unable to sit still under her scrutiny.

Harry's gaze immediately slides over to Hermione, wondering how she'll handle the conversational Quaffle Ron just threw at her.

"Good. Things are going great." Looking at the wall just left of Ron's head, she sucks her bottom lip into her mouth before slowly releasing it. "It's normal, really. I was promoted a little while ago, which was… good."

Ron seems to mull that over. What Harry wouldn't do to get inside his head in that moment... "That's great."

"Yeah," she says, quietly dragging the word out as if trying to make it into a conversational piece of its own. "How about you? Fred and George, um, said you're still at the shop."

"Yeah. I still want to leave, but… maybe not yet." His fingers wander down to fiddle with the tablecloth dangling near him. "It's going alright," he continues to Harry's relief. "I've been doing more front of house stuff lately. I'm getting better at it. Still not sure what else to do, though."

"I'm glad it's going well," she says sincerely.

Ron shoots her a grateful, albeit still tense, smile. "Thanks."

The problem, Harry decides as they fall into uncomfortable silence once more, is that nothing is _safe_ anymore. Talking about Hermione's work risks stirring up Ron's feelings of inadequacy and inferiority. Discussing Ron's time at the shop while he tries to work out his future hits a little too close to home for both of them, reminding them of that final fight all over again. They're so wary of potential conversational minefields that neither of them want to make any real, decisive attempt at motion. While that lets them avoid fighting, however, it just leaves them both stuck in place on opposite sides of a large plain of uncertainty and hurt. Trying to step across that field is a risk, but not doing so just means that their only option is to walk away entirely.

He is determined not to let that happen. Their friendship survived trolls and convicts and Death Eaters; he is _not_ going to let it fall apart because of a bad breakup.

"Have you heard from Bill and Fleur lately?" Harry asks, his tone cautious. The last he heard, the couple are both doing well, and, as far as he is aware, his friends have never had a major argument about them.

"Yeah. Fleur's pregnant again."

Harry frowns as he notes how mechanical Hermione's voice sounds as she replies, "That's exciting. How far along is she?"

"Not sure. She only told us the other day, though, so it must still be pretty early."

"I'm sure Victoire will love to have a little brother or sister."

"She is excited about it, yeah. Seems to think she's getting some kind of oversized doll to play with." After another particularly long pause, Ron adds, "This isn't working, is it?"

"Yes, it is," Harry immediately intercedes, feeling that part of his job as mediator is to steer the conversation away from any defeatist talk. He's supposed to facilitate success, not failure, after all. "It's a massive improvement from where you were yesterday. We should keep trying. Victoire's excited; that's cute. We can talk about cute things."

"No, Ron's right; it's too forced. Since when do we all sit down drinking tea in a café? It's not us. Besides, this is going to have to be done in baby steps. One get-together isn't going to make everything sunny again, no matter how much we might like it to." Turning back to Ron, she adds, "You're going to be at your mother's luncheon tomorrow, right? I'll go too and we can try to talk some more then. That should feel more natural."

Harry wants to protest, but Ron's face lights up in relief, and it strikes him that this is the first time they have agreedon something in a long time. "Sounds great," Ron says. "Dad's missed having you there. If you want, I can even tell my mum we'll clean up afterwards."

"Perfect," she replies.

"I'll head off, then, and let her know." Ron counts out enough galleons to cover his share of the bill. "See you tomorrow."

"See you then."

"We're going to be alright," Hermione murmurs to herself as she watches him leave. And, after all the three of them have been through together, Harry can't help but believe her.


	9. Cleaning Up

Everyone seems to notice when Ron and Hermione offer to clean up together, but no one – apart from George, who watches them leave with a thoughtful frown on his face – reacts as if it's abnormal. Still, she feels like a weight leaves her shoulders when they enter the small kitchen with the last of the plates and cutlery. The Weasleys have all been a little _too_ nonchalant about her presence there, acting, for the most part, as if she never even stopped going over in the first place. And, while she appreciates that they're trying to make it easy for them, it unsettles her. She doesn't want things to be forced, but she also doesn't want it to just go back to the way things were. She wants…

 _The problem,_ she thinks, _is that their pretending things are normal between us is making the fact that things are strained even more apparent._

After all, 'normal' doesn't include spending a whole afternoon brainstorming potential conversation starters for a casual chat with the person who has been your best friend since you were eleven. Every time she uses one of them, however natural it might seem to outsiders and even to him, it brings her back to the problem at hand.

They no longer know how to talk to one another.

"I'm always amazed at what a good cook your mum is," she says, falling back on another of those pre-planned comments as she scrapes scraps into the compost container. "I would never have the patience for it."

"I remember." After a moment, he adds hurriedly, as if to relieve any slight that might have caused, "Charlie's the only one of us kids who does. I mean, we all can, but he's the only one who gets into it. And even that's just been since he left for Romania."

Excitement rushes through her at the thought, and she sets the final plate aside as she turns to face him. "Ooh! Does he cook Romanian food? What's that like? You know, despite knowing your family for a decade, I don't actually know what food is traditional there. Or anything about Romania, really. What – "

He cuts her off with a shaky laugh. "Mostly, yeah. It drives Mum bonkers that he can't cook English staples, but she loves that he knows recipes she doesn't. I overheard her telling Dad that she's proud he learned it all himself. And there are lots of sour soups and vegetables, from what I can gather."

"I'll have to ask him for some soup recipes, then. Teddy tends to be a bit more prone to colds and tummy bugs around the full moon, but he hates all of the soups we know how to make, so it might be worth a shot."

"I can ask him in my next letter if you want."

"That would be fantastic," she gushes.

"It's nothing," he says, before wincing with an adorable sheepishness that takes her back to first year. With an awkward laugh, he says, "Better get on actually cleaning this up, eh?" and flicks his wand to cast the spell.

"The kids are growing up so fast," she comments as she watches the dishes start to clean themselves obligingly. "I still can't believe how big Teddy has grown."

"It's scary," he agrees. "Soon they'll both be heading off to Hogwarts."

That's still several years off, but she completely understands where he's coming from. Under Andromeda's tutelage, Teddy has started getting a hang of containing his magic. Every now and again, he will start letting off sparks in anger before reining it in again. Seeing him slowly develop control of his magic, even on such a minor scale, casts images through her mind of what it might be like when he's a student. Teddy, dressed up in school robes, standing on Platform 9 ¾ for the first time. Teddy, beaming proudly, excited for the year to come. Teddy, sitting on a stool with the Sorting Hat atop his head and his future home before him. "Bill and Fleur are leaning away from Beauxbatons, then?"

"Yeah." He pauses and, after quickly examining the plates, slowly swirls his wand in the circular motion of the Drying Charm. Ostensibly, he's taking the time to concentrate on getting the spell right, but she suspects he's also trying to work out what to say. Things seem more natural now that they're back in a familiar environment and can talk, or not talk, without it being a huge deal, but it still feels far from smooth. "She prefers the way they run things there, but they want their kids to go to the same school as Teddy and any future cousins rather than going off to France alone."

"That makes sense. It would be good for her to have family at school with her."

His lips spread into a rare smile. "Let's just hope they don't come across any trolls or basilisks there."

A startled laugh forces its way out of her mouth. "I'm not sure about trolls, but the chance of another basilisk finding its way there is slim. We might still have to warn them to avoid haunted bathrooms with strangely decorated sinks, though."

"That's probably for the best, yeah." Shaking his head, he adds, "And out of the way corridors. And the forest. And Filch. And DADA professors."

"So everything, really. We should just tell them to keep their heads down and only do what they absolutely have to do to pass each subject. To do everything we _didn't_ do, basically."

"We're allowed to be hypocrites when it's for their own safety," he declares, before snorting. "McGonagall would never admit it, but she'd be so disappointed if they toed the line all the time. She _says_ she likes people to follow the rules, but she secretly loves it when people get away with things for good reasons."

Unlike the day before, the silence that rises up between them is comfortable and easy. After spending so many months avoiding one another like one of Hagrid's 'pets', it feels like the fractures and fissures between them are slowly starting to knit back together again. "They'll have the time of their lives there," she says, her voice choked with a sudden flare of nostalgia. "I know I did."

For the first time in a while, he actually seems to be looking straight at her, and his expression is unexpectedly open. "I miss you, Hermione. I miss my best friend."

"Me too," she admits as, fighting down tears of relief, she steps towards him and into his embrace. It's so different, yet so much better, than the last time they hugged. It has lost all hints of romance and passion, but it has also shucked the coils of the tension that was wrapping around them for so long. The bitterness and the hurt has fallen away. All that remains is the comfort and friendship that she has missed for so long. "I miss you too."


	10. Ruthless

A/N: It feels like every part of me is exhausted right now. I was going to run a few errands around lunchtime before settling in to read and play Fire Emblem, but then Mum and I decided we'd try to finish Christmas and grocery shopping as well, and, well, several hours later… Ugh, we are _so_ not shoppers. Especially at the height of summer. The only thing that got us through was that we didn't want to have to go out again anytime soon.

* * *

The conversation feels much less stilted as they make their way back outside to join the others half an hour later, both smiling in appreciation of the fact that _something_ is starting to go their way again.

" _All_ of it?" she repeats incredulously.

"Yeah. He just shoved it all in his mouth and, when we caught up to him on the street, tried to convince us he hadn't shoplifted."

"But you obviously caught him."

"It wasn't that hard," he says, "given that whatever he put in there wasn't supposed to be ingested. He ended up turning bright green and breaking out in these weird lump things."

"Oh my goodness." Wiping her eyes with her hands as she fights back laughter, she asks, "How long did it take for it to go back down?"

"Ten minutes. Fred could have fixed it sooner, but he refused to do it until the boy admitted that he had been stealing. 'After all,' he said, 'it isn't our responsibility to do anything if you have a harmless reaction to something outside our shop. It's not like any of our products caused it, right? You didn't buy anything, so you couldn't have had anything on you at the time.' The kid only confessed when Fred and I started heading back inside and he realised we weren't joking about leaving him like that. Fred fixed him right up and then made him pay for what he'd eaten."

"That's sort of brilliant, actually. _Ruthless_ , but…"

"That's Fred, alright."

Her gaze automatically flicks over to where Fred and George are lounging around on the grass with Victoire and Teddy. The children are laughing in blissful amusement, but the twins seem much tenser than she is used to seeing them.

"Either way, though, he won't be coming back," Ron continues. "George has added his magical signature to the list of people who can't enter, so his only option from now on will be mail order."

"You should see if you can adjust your protective charms to detect when someone's trying to leave without paying," she suggests as she, smiling fondly, watches Fred hold a happily squealing Victoire upside down. "Muggles have a piece of technology attached to the product that will beep if it isn't switched off before leaving the store. I'm not sure how it would work with magic, though, unless you cast some sort of wailing charm over everything and then cast the counter-spell on each item as they're bought."

As she turns back to Ron, she notices him watching her with a peculiar expression on his face.

"What?" she asks.

"It's nothing." After a beat, he adds, "Honestly."

Awkwardness settles back over them again like a shadow that can't be shaken; it feels like, no matter how many times they manage to hide from it, it will always come back when they step into the light once more.

"And there it is," he notes. "We're bad at this, aren't we?"

"At least we're a bit better at it than we were yesterday."

"I guess."

"Hermione!" George's voice cuts in. Looking over at him, she sees him jump to his feet and run across the grass to meet them. "I have some business ideas I want your opinion on. Come for a walk with me?"

Relieved at the interruption, she eagerly replies, "Of course. I'd love to help. Talk to you later, Ron."

"Yeah, you too."

George, for some reason, refuses to start talking until they've put some distance between them and the rest of the group. Only when they are in a fairly secluded area does he admit, "I don't actually need your help. You and Ron just looked like you both wanted to escape, so I thought I'd step in."

"Thanks. It did get a bit awkward there towards the end."

"Only towards the end?" he asks, but the amusement tinging his voice seems uncharacteristically forced.

Suspicion niggles at the back of her brain. George can be considerate when the situation calls for it, but she senses an ulterior motive lurking below the surface of his questions. She doesn't know when it will rise up like a shark to strike, but she's determined to fish it out of the water before it can surprise her. "It was good for the most part," she replies, peering at him out of the corner of her eye. "We got the chance to talk properly, which was nice."

"Sounds like it." He seems to be struggling to word something, which only furthers her certainty that the thing he doesn't want her to know about is preparing to strike. After a few moments, he appears to give up.

"It's been a long time since we've really _talked_ ," she continues, attaching a single wriggling worm to her fishing rod in the hope that it will be effective enough bait. "In the months leading up to our break up, we always seemed to be talking around one another. For a while there, while we were in the kitchen, it was like we were back to how it was before."

"Before?" he repeats. Quickly, he blurts out, "Are you thinking about getting back together, then?"

 _There._ That's _his ulterior motive,_ she thinks. But why? Surely he knows them both well enough to know that neither of them would put themselves in that situation again. Unless he's worried they would and merely wants to gently redirect them before they make things worse for themselves? It's misguided, but it _would_ make sense if he were looking out for his brother… "No," she says – and, for all of his pranking and acting skills, he visibly relaxes at the words. "We both just want to be friends again."

"Good," he replies. "I think it's better for both of you that way."

"Right," she says, scepticism lacing her tone. Glancing back at the far-off gathering, she decides that she would far rather awkwardly dance around a conversation with Ron than continue trying to make sense of George Weasley's sudden bout of slyness. "I'm going to head back now. Are you coming?"


	11. Light

Days turn into a month, and Hermione still hasn't figured out why George's question set her ill at ease. Every encounter with the twins turns into an attempt to unravel the mystery, but his behaviour rapidly returned to normal, the matter of Ron firmly in the past. But the issue is soon eclipsed by her concern for Harry. Despite his attempted date several weeks prior, he quickly reverted to his usual patterns of reclusiveness and self-depreciation. Some days, all she can do is take care of Teddy and make sure Kreacher keeps Harry fed.

When she gets home from work one day to hear Harry announce that Luna is returning to Britain for a few days, however, that rut is swiftly broken. The young witch spends most of the day with her father before dropping in on them after they've returned from work and are settling in for the evening.

"What have you been doing with yourself?" Hermione asks on the first such evening as she stirs sugar into her mug of hot chocolate. "The last we heard, you were in Russia."

"Travelling," she replies simply. "Rolf heard reports of a Snorkack sighting north of Novosibirsk, so we left immediately to see if it was our time to see one as well."

Hermione has to force herself not to scrunch up her nose at Luna's phrasing, but Harry merely asks, "Was it?" as if it were completely normal.

"Unfortunately not. But that's alright," she adds when Harry reflexively starts to apologise, "it was disappointing, but everything will line up one day. Even if it doesn't, that just means I'm not one of the few who have been chosen to see one, and that's alright too."

"But what did you do over there while you waited for, er, things to align?" Hermione asks. "Surely you didn't just wait around for the one creature."

"Of course we didn't. We aren't looking for _it_ ; we're _looking_."

"For anything?" Harry prompts.

"Focusing on finding a single thing blinds you to seeing everything else that's out there in the world," she explains. "We have been compiling information about all different sorts of Russian magical creatures as we come across them. Almost everything that isn't native here is outside of British academia's current scope, so it's easy to make what they would call new discoveries. The Ministry has never bothered itself with things that don't directly affect them, after all." Her protuberant grey eyes suddenly fixate on Hermione, interest flickering in their depths. "Harry told me you've been working on your first bill."

"We write one another," Harry explains when the older witch shoots him a confused look.

"Yes," Hermione says, her curiosity placated. "I want to reform the archaic laws surrounding werewolf rights. The Wizengamot redacted the worst of them in the immediate aftermath of the war, but that's not enough. Workplaces can't _technically_ refuse to hire someone on the basis of them being a lycanthrope, but it's still illegal to deny being a werewolf if someone asks you directly, and the Ministry isn't going to bother looking into it too closely if someone just so happens to always turn werewolf applicants away. Even if it ever did go to court, all they'd have to say is that Greyback went after them during the war and the Wizengamot would declare that a good enough reason to discriminate against all werewolves. It needs to change. The problem is creating legislation that changes things enough while still being acceptable to their outdated standards."

"People will always be cruel," Luna muses. "The trick is restricting their effect on the things that matter while making it so you genuinely don't care about the things that don't."

"Like stolen shoes?" Harry nods thoughtfully. "I think I could have done with that advice when we were at school."

"You seemed to manage fairly well without it."

"Only because I was constantly distracted by Voldemort."

Harry and Luna fall back into their relaxed friendship with ease – that's the benefit of keeping in contact, Hermione supposes – but Hermione finds it harder to adjust to having her around again. The toil of war created an unbreakable sense of comradeship between them, but it still takes a particular mindset to be able to decode and respond to her supposedly random statements. While she found that attitude in the year following the final battle, the time apart has set her back again, and she's no longer quite sure what to say around the odd witch.

Despite this, it's undeniable that her presence, however brief, revitalises their life. She is like a splash of colour amidst a sea of grey. Her unflappable outlook and fay-like features contrast with the dreary mood and dull décor like a full moon hanging, bright and dauntless, in the otherwise black night sky. Just sitting with her, with her unique and guileless way of seeing the world, lifts their attitudes more than anything else ever could have.

And, best of all, Teddy loves her. She has been away on her research trip for so long that he barely remembers her, but they more than make up for lost time. Although he is far past the stage of making it his life's mission to stick every foreign object he sees in his mouth in an attempt to work out what it is, her quirky earrings and necklaces fascinate him. Within hours of meeting her again, he is hanging off of her at every opportunity, walking around the house with a newfound grace in an attempt to emulate her. He looks more like a colt hobbling around on its spindly legs for the first time, but the intent – and the feeling behind it – is clear.


	12. Worried

A/N: Happy New Year! I was going to post this ten and a half hours ago, when the year actually clicked over here, but the site's been having some technical difficulties, so… Anyway, my aunt's flying in today, and I'm feeling under the weather again, so I should probably start getting ready now.

Should. Probably won't.

* * *

The first time she gets a proper chance to talk to Luna alone is at the Burrow. They've had moments, here and there, but it has never been long enough for a real conversation. So, when Harry and the Weasleys decide to have a game of backyard Quidditch and Luna suggests the two witches lay out a picnic blanket to sit on as they watch them, she decides to take the opportunity to talk to her. Molly and Arthur are watching the kids, and everyone else is up in the air, so they're as unlikely to be interrupted as they ever will be. Letting herself relax, Hermione decides to open up to the one person she can always count on to have a unique and unexpected approach to things. All of her efforts to date have failed, but perhaps Luna will be able to suggest a new tactic.

It's worth a shot. Even if it doesn't amount to anything, it's better than just trying the same things over and over again.

"Have you noticed anything, well, _odd_ about Harry recently?" She almost instantly winces at the phrasing, but she it's the best way she can think to word it without leading Luna's response.

Luna's gaze seems almost chiding when she looks up from the shawl she is knitting to inspect Hermione. "Odd like you think I am?"

An embarrassed blush creeps across Hermione's cheeks. "I don't think you're odd."

The blonde witch nods thoughtfully, but her next words belie any hope that the lacklustre defence convinced her. "You do, actually, but that's okay. I think you are, too, sometimes. Still, I might not be the best person for you to ask about whether someone or something should be considered odd."

"It's just that I'm worried about him," Hermione admits, deciding to do away with any attempts at subtlety. "He isn't moving forward. None of us are moving _on_ , but he seems to be finding it harder to move _forward_ than anyone else. If it weren't for Teddy… He went out on a date a few weeks ago, and the twins and I thought it would be a turning point for him, but he's just fallen back into the same old rut again. I get why, I really do. But it's not healthy for him to shut himself up in the past like this."

Returning to her shawl, Luna sighs the weary lament of one who has seen death too many times to count and had to come to terms with it each and every time. "There's no one right way to mourn, Hermione. Everyone grieves differently. And he has a lot of people to grieve for."

"I know, but it's already been a few years. You have to start moving forward again eventually. I don't want him to forget about her or stop feeling sad that she's gone, but I do wish that he would actively try to live and do things that make him happy. Sometimes, I'm afraid he doesn't _want_ to be happy."

"I think true happiness is a long way off for any of us. Everything's always going to be a little bit bittersweet."

Conceding the other witch's point but unwilling to let go of her own, Hermione insists, "But he has to aim to get there one day."

"You want me to talk to him," Luna states rather than asks.

"Not directly. I just want you to be aware of it… just in case an opportunity comes up."

Luna doesn't respond, instead focusing on adding stitch after stitch to her project. Hermione can tell that the younger girl is less than thrilled with her, but she hopes that her silent acceptance of her words means she will keep an eye out for it – and for any opportunities to lure Harry out of his shell. Luna can see it as interfering all she wants, but that doesn't make it any less necessary.

It's a guerrilla mission in the nicest way, but Hermione and Fred - and, she hopes, Luna – are determined to do it anyway.

 _After everything we've been through, we deserve to be happy._ Harry _deserves to be happy. I understand why he isn't, but I'm not going to let him flounder like that if I can help it._


	13. A Ray of Sunshine

For Harry, there is no way to describe Luna's presence other than as being a source of constant joy. As much as he loves Hermione and the Weasleys, they can all be rather judgmental and, when they think it's in his best interests, deceitful. And, when he's honest with himself, he has to admit that he is the same. In the midst of all of that, Luna's candour and tolerance is like a refreshing sun shower in the middle of a scorching summer day.

He knows that his family will never look down on him for a trait as human as fallibility; the war scarred them just as much as it did him, after all. They all take him as he is while accepting that where he's currently at isn't where he wants to be. But even they look at him critically at times, as if he should be doing things their way rather than his.

Luna, however, just looks at him with complete acceptance. She disagrees with him when she thinks he's wrong, but she never seems to do it in a condemnatory way. With her, he can just be. And, he hopes, she can do that with him as well.

"What's it like to work with your boyfriend?" Harry asks her as he packs away the board game they were playing with Teddy that morning.

"Partner," she corrects him, sorting the coloured bricks into piles. "It's certainly an experience, but then I suppose everything is. It shows me things about Rolf that I wouldn't have seen otherwise, like how ambitious and competitive he can be. And we both love our jobs, so we haven't had any problems with accountability."

"Do you ever feel like you talk about work too much? Susan is dating one of our co-workers, and she says work often bleeds over into their dating life as well. It drives her mad sometimes, as if they're co-workers first and partners second."

Her hands still as she pauses to consider the question. "We do talk about it a lot," she allows, "but Daddy and I always have as well, and we've never had any problems with it. It has been such a big part of my life for so long, though, that it doesn't feel like a work conversation. It just feels like a _me_ conversation." Blinking up at the ceiling, she remarks, "There are a lot of starzas here."

The change of topic confuses him, but he runs with it. "There are?"

"Yes. They tend to like dark, sad places. Have you ever thought about redecorating?"

Grief, never far from the surface, wells up within him again. "I talked about it, er, with Ginny. Years ago. We never got around to deciding on anything."

"Oh." Her eyes light up with understanding. "I see. No wonder you've kept it like this." Her gaze sweeps across the room. "Do you still want to redecorate? You could start with small changes instead of doing it all at once. If you don't rush it, it might not overwhelm you so much."

"Maybe. What would you suggest?"

She laughs, the sound trilling like a happy songbird celebrating the dawning of the day. "I don't think you should use my ideas as a guide if you want to go with slow and subtle. My style isn't exactly something most people view as normal." She raises her hand to her earrings, fingering the hanging grapes in silent emphasis. "Within a week, you would have skylights and flowerpots with glow in the dark stars on them and lucky charms hanging from strings that line the walls."

Harry can't help but grin at the thought. The image it conjures up is just so _Luna_ ; airy and fascinating and layered. She's right, though, when she says it wouldn't suit Grimmauld Place. The novelty would wear off after a few days, leaving him overwhelmed and lost once more. Still, part of him is charmed by the idea of it. "That sounds lovely, and I would even remove the charms around Walburga's portrait just to hear her reaction, but you're right. That might be too drastic a change for the time being."

"Start small," she advises.

"Start small," he agrees.

"I want to go to the cemetery tomorrow or the next day," she says, changing the subject with the swift grace of a ballerina. "It has been a while since I've been to visit Ginny's body. Do you want to come with me?"


	14. The Visit

A/N: Got to love Australian summers, flicking between blistering heat and violent thunderstorms like a yoyo.

* * *

A thick layer of white coats the ground like marzipan as they trudge down the quiet path. Little clumps of snow continue to fall around them like some sort of morbid confetti, a parody of true celebration. It blocks out all traces of colour, making the area look like nothing more than a monochromic wasteland that stretches out around them in every direction.

The cemetery never fails to get to him, even after all this time. He keeps expecting to be desensitised to its sting, but that only seems to make it worse; each and every time, it hits him like an unexpected kick in the gut. There is just too much sadness there for him to ever walk through it unfeelingly. His mum and dad, and now Ginny as well, all lay buried several feet under the ground, forever separated from him by dirt and gravel and flowers and timber. He can visit them and talk to them and be with them, but they will never be able to do the same to him. And the awareness that they're there but not there, tangible but not touchable, makes every visit excruciating. It feels like he's with them, but he knows he isn't. Not really.

His feet come to a stop at the headstone, and he crouches down to wipe the crystallised water away. Slowly, the memorial becomes visible once more. The cold seeps through his gloves, chilling his fingers, but he barely reacts to the unpleasant sensation. It just is. _He_ just is. Like whenever Ginny's name is mentioned, he feels numb to the core, like nothing else matters.

He isn't even sure if he would notice if he got hypothermia.

"Here she is," he whispers when the task is done. Without standing, he pulls a bouquet of pink roses out of his coat pocket and, after magically clearing the rest of the snow from the grave and casting a stasis charm so future snow won't suffocate them, adds them to the small vase resting in front of the headstone. The bright petals stand out against their white surrounds, making the scene seem a little brighter.

Without speaking, Luna sits down, cross-legged, at the foot of the grave and stares up at the words etched onto the cleared headstone.

 _Ginevra Molly Weasley. 'Ginny'. 11 August 1981 – 2 May 1998. Girlfriend, friend, sister, daughter, leader. Fighter to the end. Nothing and no one could ever quench her fire. She burned even in the darkest of nights. Without her, the world today would be a much darker place._

And there, at the base of the grey stone, is an engraved phoenix, its wings outstretched as if it were poised to take flight. Its feathers are shaded in brilliant reds and oranges, much like Ginny's hair was in life. And its bright brown eyes stare off purposefully into the distance.

"She wasn't ever in the Order," Harry explains when he notices the direction of Luna's gaze, "but we never had a symbol for the DA, so it seemed fitting. We asked for the design to be coloured differently so it would look more like her."

"It suits her. She rose from the ashes after our first year to become a strong person and a wonderful friend." Turning those astute eyes on him, she adds, "Thank you for bringing me here, Harry. It looks so different in the winter that I might not have found it on my own. It can be nice to just wander, sometimes, but I think this is a time when that wouldn't have been the case."

"It's alright. It's been a while since I was last here." Sighing, he stands up and says, "I'll leave you alone with her, if you'd like. I need to visit my parents, anyway."

She smiles up at him gratefully, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. "Thank you. It has been so long since I've spoken with her, and we… I'll come over to see your parents soon."

"Take as long as you like."

"I will. You should, too."

He nods brusquely and sets off to the older graves, his gloved hand slipping into his pocket to stroke the petals of the white lilies hidden inside. It's strange to be here with someone – he usually chooses to come alone – but not in a bad way. Luna was, after all, Ginny's best friend. If anyone knows how he feels, as someone who loves her dearly but doesn't have the official title of family member to prove the veracity of that bond, it's Luna.

And that makes her presence okay.


	15. Nightmares

A/N: Thunderstorm time again, although this one is significantly less intense. I'm just glad I got this edited before the internet has the chance to cut off again.

* * *

As usual, the night after visiting the cemetery is particularly tough for Harry. His slumber is riddled with nightmares and insomnia that he just can't shake, leaving him feeling like he's spending most of the night just staring at the wall opposite his bed. The dim light peaking its way in around the edges of the curtain illuminates the room just enough for him to make out the mementos and photographs that line his dressing table, so he fixes his gaze on the shadowed faces that smile back at him with the innocence of youth.

Eventually, he gives up on sleep entirely. Rubbing the sleep from his eyes, he slides out of bed with a groan and, after slipping on his glasses, stumbles out of his bedroom. The glare of the hallway lights prove too bright for his aching eyes, so he peers at his feet as he makes his way down the stairs, waiting for his corneas to adjust.

He regains vision just as he reaches the bottom of the flight of stairs and turns to enter the dining room. To his surprise, a thin rim of light borders the door. It takes a moment for his tired brain to register that that either means that someone else is awake or that Hermione forgot to turn the light off before bed.

Given her rather impressive memory, he suspects that it's the former.

The door swings open, and he almost runs headfirst into his best friend.

"Oh!" Hermione exclaims, clutching paperwork to her chest as she jumps back in shock. "Harry." She slips the wand that she drew like lightning back into her pocket. "Reflex," she explains, almost self-consciously.

"Understandable," he slurs out, sending an amused smile quirking across her lips. "'scuse me."

She moves back further to let him pass before following him back through into the kitchen. "You know, you're kind of adorable when you're tired. You look like an overgrown kid."

He eyes her, not sure whether to take that as a compliment or an insult, before heading over to pull a box of cereal from the cupboard. "I bet this doesn't help, does it?" he asks as he sets himself up at the table.

"Not really." Slipping into the chair next to him, she sighs and asks, "Another nightmare?"

"Yeah."

"Do you want to talk about it?"

"Not really."

"Would it help if I talked about something else?"

At his nod, she obligingly lurches into a description of the research she has been doing into how different legal systems approach the issue of werewolves and how she hopes to piece together an approach that will be accepted by wizarding Britain. His brain is too groggy to follow her detailed explanations, but her words give him something else to concentrate on, and he uses it to pull himself out of the abyss the nightmares so carelessly tossed him into.

"Thank you," he says when his snack is finished and her voice has faded into silence once more. "You really are the best, Hermione."

She smiles, tired but obviously grateful for his words. Her desire for external validation has faded as the years have gone on and she has learned to ignore the judgemental gazes of those around them, but, at times like these, he's reminded that she's still the same girl who once despaired over the idea of having a single professor dislike her. "Anytime, Harry. Are you going back to bed?"

"I might read for a bit first."

"Do you want any suggestions?" she asks, a little too eagerly.

He snickers. "Not unless you have any Quidditch books I don't know about."

She pulls a face at him, causing him to laugh harder. "Only one on the dangers of the sport to athletes' long term health."

"Right. I might just stick with my own bookshelf, then."

"That's probably for the best," she agrees.


	16. Parting

"Rolf and I are going to meet up with Daddy in Vietnam for Christmas." Her eyebrows pucker in thought before smoothing out again as she adds, "I don't know if they even celebrate the holiday over there, but it will be interesting to find out."

"They do," Hermione chimes in.

The blonde witch stares at her for a long moment, mild irritation at having had the mystery solved so quickly evident in her gaze. Then, suddenly, her expression clears and she turns to Teddy with a bright smile. "Would you like me to bring something back for you?"

The young boy nods eagerly. He doesn't know much about Vietnam, but he knows that a gift from Luna – especially one from such a far-off place – is sure to be special. "Yes, please." He flashes a quick look at Hermione, who nods in acknowledgment of his proper use of manners.

"You don't have to."

She blinks at him. "Of course I don't have to, Harry. But I would like to, and it sounds like Teddy would like me to as well. Isn't that right, Teddy?"

The uncomfortable look his godson, clearly torn between his desire for the gift and his respect for his guardians, sends him instantly sways Harry. "If you're sure," he concedes.

"When have you ever known me not to be sure about what I want?"

"Fair point."

"I'll miss you when you're away," Teddy says, staring up at her.

"And _I'll_ miss _you_." She sweeps him into a tight hug, holding him for a few moments before letting him go again. "But that's the way life is. People and things come and go, sometimes unexpectedly, and all you can do is enjoy them while they're with you. If you're always thinking of the people who aren't with you, you might ignore the ones who are."

"But I don't want you to go," he says, pouting, and all the adults – even Harry, despite having turned a little pallid at the topic – laugh.

"How is she going to find a gift for you if she doesn't leave?" Hermione points out.

"You'll come back," Teddy clarifies. At her nod, he adds, "Then I guess you can go."

Smiling down at him, Luna jokes, "Now that I have your permission…"

"Speaking of," Hermione cuts in, "you're always welcome to visit anytime you like."

"That's very sweet of you."

"She means it," Harry insists. "People were so used to just coming and going without announcing themselves when this was Order headquarters that some of them still randomly pop in. We would love warning so we can make sure that we're here, but you can always just drop by… Hermione, you can key her magical signature into the front door, can't you? That way, even if everyone's out, you can still get in if you need to. We changed it after the war for extra protection, but Hermione has set it so all of our friends can get through it anyway."

"Oh, Harry," Luna laughs. "Don't ever change."

Teddy giggles at her words, even though Harry is almost certain that the boy doesn't actually understand them. Speaking of being confused… "What?"

"You might have gotten a little bit carried away at the end there," Hermione explains. "But, Luna, I'm more than happy to key you in. Why don't we go do that now?"

* * *

A/N: I went on a park run this morning, and the pain has just begun to set in. Hopefully, it will go away quickly enough that I'll have forgotten about it in time for next week…


	17. Dating Again

A/N: Remind me to never let my unread emails build up so much again. I've been sorting through them over the past few days and, while it's finally nearing manageable, there's still a fair way to go.

* * *

This time, the decision to date is easier. Harry still feels a rush of guilt when he asks Caitlin, a witch from Hermione's department at work, out to dinner, but it isn't anywhere near as intense as it was with Bree. This time, he doesn't even need a pre-date pep talk to get him out the front door. Excitement stirs within him at the prospect of spending time with the lively blonde. She might not be Ginny, but she is a force of her own.

He picks her up at her house, because – although he sees no point to it when it would be more efficient to both Apparate there by themselves – Ron insists that it's good manners. From the moment she steps out of her front door, he can tell that it's going to be different than any date he has ever been on before. She's wearing a red sundress, and her hair is up in some kind of twisty thing, and she instantly starts babbling at him, but everything she's saying is interesting and purposeful, and –

And he likes it.

She is probably, from what he can tell, the most confident person he has ever met, jumping straight into conversation without any hint of self-consciousness or awkwardness.

"Tell me if I'm talking too much," she says offhandedly, and he gets the sense that people could tell her that a thousand times and she would still bounce back again. "There's a reason I make a good lawyer. Just a hint: it's not lack of verbosity."

"I don't mind," he assures her, not wanting the flow of fascinating words to stop. "Have you been to Parvati's Corner before? If so, it might be better if we Apparate there separately."

"I have. We could have just met up there, you know."

"I know, but, er, my friend said it would be polite to meet you here, even if we don't end up Side Along Apparating."

She laughs, watching him knowingly. "Do you mean an actual friend, or is that just a euphemistic way of saying that you changed your mind?"

"Actual friend. I asked him for advice, seeing as how I haven't dated much… since..."

"Since Ginny?" she supplies.

Harry hesitates, not sure how she will take the reference to Ginny. That's one thing both Ron and Hermione have been adamant about over the years: never talk about your ex on a first date. "Yeah."

Caitlin, however, simply nods. She doesn't apologise – for saying her name _or_ for his loss – and he's grateful for that. "From what I've heard from Hermione, she was quite the witch. But you don't need to worry about dating conventions or whatnot. I don't date much either; work can get hectic, and most people don't like overtalkative lawyers, so I'm generally happier just hanging out with my friends. I would rather we do what feels right, not what someone else calls normal."

He breathes out a sigh of relief. Despite his earlier feelings of guilt, this girl really does intrigue him, and he'd hate for the date to end before they even left her house. "Same. Er, without the lawyer bit."

"Shall we go, then?"

"Ladies first."

She shoots him an amused look before squeezing her eyes shut and, holding her wand out before her, turning in place. Within an instant, she's gone.

 _I can do this_ , Harry thinks as he unsheathes his own wand thirty seconds later. _Fred and Hermione are right; Ginny would want me to be happy. And Luna is, too; I can miss her without cutting myself off from new people._

His lips quirk up in a soft smile as, visualising the familiar restaurant, he turns in a tight circle. He can move forward without leaving Ginny's memory behind, and he can't think of a more stimulating person to do it with. He isn't yet ready to commit to someone else, but, for the first time since that dreadful battle, he feels like he's getting there.


	18. Christmas Morning

Teddy laughs and giggles in uncontained delight as the toy broom swoops around the room, narrowly avoiding people and furniture alike. After a particularly close call with the brightly decorated Christmas tree set up in the corner, he squeals joyfully and loops back towards the centre of the room. His feet brush across the discarded wrapping paper as he zooms through the Burrow's cluttered living room, sending a tremor of flinches through the gathered adults as they brace themselves for the worst.

Fortunately, nothing happens. They would all prefer that he fly only in open spaces until he gets used to turning the broom in tight areas, but none of them want to take the risk of letting him outside with it yet. There be all manner of dangers that he could fall into, after all. If he falls off while playing inside, the most he will get is a bruise. Adding potholes and a frozen lake into the mix isn't anyone's idea of a fun time.

"I'm still not impressed that you've started in on him this young," Hermione chides Harry as they watch Arthur sidestep Teddy at the last minute. "Couldn't you have waited a few more years before teaching him that having people pelt big metal balls at you while you're hundreds of metres off the ground is normal?"

"Come on, Hermione, he's going to think that anyway," Ron replies. "He's seen enough backyard games to want to try it for himself, so you can't put it off forever. 'Sides, he's learning to fly, not play Quidditch."

Harry nods, grateful for the support. He could tell the moment Teddy unwrapped the present that Hermione didn't approve, so he made sure he was always around a Weasley so she wouldn't be able to catch him alone. "It's much safer than waiting until he's old enough to go straight to a real bream. Quidkids is the safest line of brooms on the market; it has built-in speed and height restrictions, and they've even worked a special feature into the latest model so that it will send up flares if the child's weight suddenly disappears while the broom's in the air. He'll be able to learn a lot about handling without any of the risks."

Hermione considers protesting – having the safest model available doesn't mean much when the activity itself is inherently dangerous – but then Teddy's beaming face whizzes past her and she is helpless to resist. It's hard to deny him anything when he's radiating that much happiness. Flying is a useful skill to have, after all, even if he doesn't end up playing Quidditch. The chances of anyone raised amongst the Weasleys hating Quidditch are slim, but maybe she can convince him that it's overrated and to just stick with casual joyrides instead.

"I suppose," is all she says before she abruptly stands up. "I'm going for a walk. My legs are getting cramped."

Harry and Ron nod in silent understanding; they all get nightmares and flashbacks that haunt them like a poltergeist with a grudge, but the lingering effects of her time at Malfoy Manor aren't purely psychological. Every now and again, her body gets inexplicable random aches. Her lower arm is the most frequent offender, but the rest of her body occasionally conspires with it to remind her of the torture.

"I'll come with you," Fred offers from his spot in the middle of the room. Readily discarding the Muggle puzzle box Hermione gave him, which he has been fiddling with all morning, he stands up and heads for the door. "You coming, Georgie?"

His twin looks between the two of them before shaking his head with a smirk. "Nah. Bit too cold out there for me. You two go ahead."

Ignoring the leer he sends their way, Fred and Hermione slip on their winter coats and gloves and make their way outside. The landscape is almost completely monochrome; a thick layer of white snow coats the usually vibrant yard, and only the barest hints of pale, washed-out blue manage to peak out through the otherwise overcast sky. As they step over the threshold, Fred pretends to stumble in the snow, and she reaches out to steady him as they both laugh happily.

"Did you have anywhere in mind?" he asks once they're clear of the house.

"The lake, actually. It's always beautiful in the winter, and I want to see if it'll be solid enough for ice skating tomorrow. Winter's my favourite season, you know. Everything inside always looks so cosy and warm, and no one ever questions me for wanting to stay inside and read."

"It's mine, too," he declares. At her surprised look, he adds, "What? It's a veritable winter wonderland."

Eyeing him sceptically, she drawls out, " _That's_ really why you love winter."

"Okay, so maybe not." Fred's gaze sweeps across the countryside, and she can tell that he is uncomfortable with the topic. Just when she's about to start talking about Teddy instead, he confesses, "No matter where Bill and Charlie are or what they're doing, they try to come home for Christmas. It's… nice, being with them. We all miss them when they're gone."

Knowing how hard it is for him to admit that when the Weasley method of expressing affection usually consists of jinxes and ribbing, she rests her hand on his arm and teasingly asks, "The snowball fights have something to do with it, too, right?"

She's rewarded with a surprised chuckle and a much cheerier walking companion. "Yeah, just a bit. We used to really go at it when we were kids. It'd be George, Percy, Ginny and I against Bill, Charlie and Ron. Even when Perce started shutting himself away in his room to do schoolwork, he'd still come down for the annual Christmas morning snowball fight. We still do, but…"

"But it's still kind of weird after the war," she supplies.

"Exactly. The other thing I love is that everyone's confined indoors a lot of the time. Having everyone cramped together in one small place creates the kind of chaotic environment that is perfect for pranking."

Deciding not to point out that that's probably _why_ Percy spent so much time shut away in his room, Hermione notes, "So today would be the ideal time for a prank. Have you got something planned?"

"Pranksters never reveal their plans. Or, as George and I swore when we went through our alliteration phase, pranksters perpetually protect people's plans."

"Hmm. A bit clunky, but it gets the point across."

"Doesn't it just?"

"Come on, though. Are you going to pull a prank?"

"Why do you want to know?"

She shrugs as she carefully steps around a loose patch of snow. "I'm just interested in hearing about it from you. I don't like when your shenanigans interrupt my work, but you know I think you're both brilliant."

A pleased smile flits across his face. "I do remember you saying something about that once, yes. You know what? I'll do you one better. It's obvious by now that something is indeed going to happen. I'll let you know what it is – _if_ you agree to help."

She stops abruptly, staring at him in shock. "Seriously? Ron said you never let people help."

"We make exceptions on occasion. So what do you say?"

The prospect is exciting. Ever since seeing how the twins' antics cheered everyone up during the war, her opinion of them have softened considerably. The idea of actually getting to discuss ideas with them and see how they come up with things sounds almost too good to be true. "Won't George mind?"

"The chance to work with and corrupt _the_ Hermione Granger? He'd be annoyed if I _didn't_ ask you."

Her cheeks tinge a light pink at the flattery, but her voice is steady when she asks, "Would we be able to finish our walk first?"

"Sure."

"Then I'm in."

"Careful," he warns her. "Pranking is like quicksand; once you're in, it's hard to get back out again."

"I think I can work with that."

He beams in response. "Then welcome aboard."

* * *

A/N: Happy Valentine's Day!


	19. Pranking

A/N: I'm horrible at pranks, and I didn't want to go with any of the Australian muck up day staples because 1) they usually involve vandalism and 2) my cohort had a massive water fight on the back fields instead, so I'm borrowing from MIT's actual and rumoured hacks for this.

* * *

To Hermione's relief, Fred and George's plan doesn't involve anything that isn't wholly reversible. Her main concern when first agreeing to participate was that it would be something semi-permanent and would end up getting them in trouble with Arthur and Molly. Although the couple have always welcomed her, she has never quite been the honorary child that Harry is; she cannot forget how ready Molly was to cut her out of their lives after the _Daily Prophet_ incident in her fourth year. The bond is stronger now that they have all lived through a war together, but part of her will always be aware that she needs the Weasleys more than they need her.

That was never the case with Ginny, who relied on Hermione as much as the older girl did on her. It no longer applies with Ron anymore; he was always quicker to walk away from their relationship than she was, but that has slowly started to change in the aftermath of their break up. And she is gradually realising that it might not be the case with the twins, either. But, still, she needs their family more than they, as a collective, need her.

Regardless, she is excited to see how the prank will turn out. On their slow walk to the lake and back, she and Fred tweaked the twins' plans to involve her as well. Her role is going to be as active and important as theirs, and the feeling of once again being instrumental to her friends exhilarates her.

Ever since they returned to the house, she has been doing her best to look innocuous, even as Fred and George slipped away to discuss the modified strategy. She is their secret weapon, their ace in the hole. If anyone suspects her ahead of time, it will all go down the drain. Still, it's hard to focus on her discussion with Arthur about Muggle political systems when her body is so full of nervous energy. Knowing that her partners in crime have changed, that it's Fred and George who share her secret rather than Harry and Ron, is a strange feeling; she's so used to hatching plans with the boys that it feels odd not to be able to send them conspiratorial smiles as they wait. Instead, George is the one who flashes her a quick thumbs-up from across the room as the twins return downstairs and integrate themselves back into conversation.

"Time for Quidditch, then?" Charlie finally asks, tying his hair up to keep it out of his eyes.

Teddy eagerly abandons the dragon figurines his adopted uncle bought him in favour of urging the others on. "Grandma, Grandpa, are you gonna play?"

Hermione hides a smirk. George has been casually dropping hints that Molly and Arthur might like to join in all morning, but they never expected Teddy to run with the idea as well.

"I don't play anymore," Arthur replies. "Molly, however…"

"Arthur," she cautions, but Hermione can see the interest stirring in her eyes.

It doesn't take long for the group to convince the couple to participate. Arthur, true to his word, refuses to play, but he does agree to umpire if Molly joins in. Within minutes, the extended Weasley family is shepherding itself out of the Burrow.

All except for Hermione, who offers to do the cleaning up, and Teddy, who would rather play with his figurines than watch specks zoom around in the sky.

"Teddy," Hermione says when everyone has gone, "I need you to be on lookout for me, okay? I'm going to be doing some very important things to set up a surprise for the others, but that means that no one else can find out about it until it's done. If you see someone coming back to the house, let me know, alright?"

"What things?" Teddy asks, his eyes wide as he stares up at her. While the adults have told him bits and pieces from their adventures at Hogwarts, he has never actually seen her get involved with anything sly, so the idea of her sneaking around is foreign to him.

"I'm helping the twins," she admits, knowing that alone will get him on board. The twins decided to start in on him young, letting him get involved with some of their smaller gags and encouraging him to do his own. If they have their way, he'll be the best prankster in the history of Hogwarts, melding years of experience and transgenerational knowledge with his burgeoning ability to change his looks at will.

It would, frankly, be kind of terrifying if he weren't so sweet.

Teddy nods vivaciously. "Alright!" he calls back as he runs to the door and starts playing with his toy dragons there.

She races through cleaning the dishes with a speed that would rival Molly's, determined to get through everything in time. The problem with the plan is that Fred and George can't leave the game without risking discovery, so most of the grunt work has to fall to her. The twins are aiming to distract everyone for as long as they can, but there's always the chance that someone will get injured and return to the house early.

As soon as the washing up is done, she sprints to the least frequented room and slowly but surely starts her task. Adrenaline pumps through her veins as her heart races, leaving her feeling more alive than she has in years. _This_ , she realises, is the reason the twins love to pull pranks; they enjoy the laughter and the amusement of watching the others' reactions, sure, but they mostly do it for the rush.

As she hurries through the house, casting the spell over and over again until everything is in place, she feels herself falling in love with it too.

"I'm done," she finally tells Teddy after he watches her make the final changes to the living room. Crouching down, she adds, "We should go and watch the game now, partner. Can you keep this a secret for me? We don't want them to know it was us."

"I swear." He holds out the toys in his hands. "Do these too?"

"Are you sure? We can take it with us."

He nods emphatically. "I'm sure."

Smiling, she twirls her wand in a complicated loop, and they both watch the toy fly up to join the rest of the furnishings.


	20. The Payoff

The game goes brilliantly. The usual rambunctiousness is pulled into line by Arthur, who maintains much more control than Harry would have expected from him. Molly, however, is the standout surprise. Rusty as she is, she's a formidable player, zipping through the air like she was born to do it. It quickly became apparent to Harry that she's where the kids got their love of Quidditch from, and his awe only increases as the game wears on.

"Why didn't she come to the World Cup with us?" he asks George as he hovers beside him while scanning the pitch for the familiar golden shimmer of the Snitch."

The other wizard shrugs. "She doesn't like watching sport, only playing it. Dad's the other way around nowadays, so he was the one to take us."

A distant sparkle catches Harry's eye. "Sorry, got to go," he quips, and then he's diving, barrelling down, racing with so much speed that the wind whips his hair back and forces him to squint against the oncoming force. The sheer delight of it forces a careless laugh out of him. _This_ is why he loves flying. _This_ is why he will always continue playing, no matter how many times he's injured.

A bludger comes pelting his way, but he ducks and loops under it. Charlie starts to race towards him, but he has no chance of reaching Harry in time, but Harry accelerates anyway just to feel the rush, and he reaches out his hand, and he –

 _Got it._

His fingers clench around the fluttering ball, and it settles in his grasp. As he raises his hand, George lets out a whoop of joy. In the space of several seconds, his teammates all crash into him, forming a ball of hugs and congratulations, and it feels just like school again.

"And the Pineapples win the match!" Arthur announces, forgoing his whistle in favour of a voice amplification charm.

"There's a reason I chose your team, Harry," Molly declares. "I knew you would catch it."

"You don't even know _how_ to lose, do you?" George asks, ruffling his hair. "Couldn't do it if you tried."

"Unless you're being sabotaged," Angelina cuts in, bitterness tinging her voice at the painful memory.

"I couldn't have done it without you guys."

"Aw, look at him, he's getting all sheepish," George teases.

Angelina, however, merely snorts. "Damn right you couldn't. Fred would've knocked you off your broom if he hadn't had us to worry about as well."

Gradually, they all return to the ground. As soon as Harry touches down, a black-haired bullet of a person collides into his side. Laughing, he hoists his godson into his arms and stares down into his shining green eyes. "I thought you were inside."

"Aunt Mione and I came out after she finished washing up." Teddy _looks_ normal, but something about his innocent expression sets Harry's nerves afire. The twins have managed to tutor him into avoiding the usual tells, like biting his lips and looking away, but Harry still gets the sense that he's hiding something.

"Did you, now?"

"No," the boy replies, frowning in consternation. "Not now. _Earlier_."

"Figure of speech." Looking up, Harry meets Hermione's eyes. There's something there, too. It's so minor that most people would have missed it, but he has broken enough rules alongside her to be able to tell when she's up to no good. "How did the dishes go?"

A pink tint spreads across her cheeks. "Splendid."

"Right," Fred exclaims, swiftly moving between them as the rest of his teammates head back inside to start showering. "You wouldn't have seen our prank, would you, Hermione?"

Harry doesn't miss the look of relief that flashes across her face as she asks, "I missed it? Seriously?"

"You know what they always say; the Quidditch lover sees the pranks."

"No one ever says that. You're the first person I've ever heard say that."

"You would've loved it, Hermione." Ron trudges his way towards them and slings his arm around the witch. Harry shifts his gaze to him as Hermione shoves it off, complaining about sweat, but he just grins in response. " _Birds_ swooped in," he gushes. "As soon as Dad blew the starting whistle. We all flew up, and they all flew down and swarmed him. Boy, was he startled!"

"Is he okay?"

"Yeah, 'course. They just wanted food. When they realised he didn't have any, they flew away. Except they kept coming back every time he blew the whistle, so he eventually just gave up and charmed his voice so we could all hear him. He had to make drum sounds whenever he wanted our attention because even whistling manually would call them back."

She laughs, seeming genuinely surprised by his story. "I can't believe we missed it! That sounds _hilarious_."

"I know. It's a shame. There's always next time, though."

" _WHAT IS THIS?!"_

They all flinch at the sound. Any doubts Harry might have had about Hermione hiding something fade away in an instant when he sees the expression on her face. She looks curious but, most of all, _guilty_. And the twins look excited, as if they know exactly what their mother just came across. Angelina, Ron and Fleur shoot the twins exasperated glances before heading inside to see what the matter is, but neither the twins nor Hermione move a muscle.

Even Teddy looks calm.

"The four of you are in on this, aren't you?" Harry asks. "The bird thing was just Part One."

Four matching grins – two unashamed, two sheepish – turn to face him.

" _WHY IS ALL THE FURNITURE HANGING FROM THE ROOF?!"_

* * *

A/N: The inverted room thing actually did happen once at MIT, and there's an urban legend that a student frequently visited the sports field during the off season, where he would – wearing an umpire's uniform – blow a whistle before spreading out birdseed so that the birds were conditioned into associating the sound with food. When the first interschool football match rolled around…

The idea here is that the twins prepared the bird thing beforehand and were going to do the inverted room thing if, when, and on whatever scale they got the chance. Hermione's participation just gave them the opportunity to merge the two together.


	21. Serious, and Casual

They decide to hold off on telling anyone about Hermione's involvement in the Christmas prank. None of them want to lose the advantage having one of them operate in secret gives them, and it adds another layer to their subterfuge. The ultimate prank, Fred insists, is having Hermione participate without anyone ever finding out. Just like every other prank, it's the others' job to piece together what happened, not theirs to reveal their cards to the world.

For Hermione, of course, there is an addition reason for wanting to keep it quiet; she doesn't know how everyone will react. Will Molly be disappointed in her and freeze her out again? Will Ron feel betrayed that his brothers chose to involve her instead of him?

But she still isn't concerned enough to stop. Even just planning pranks with them – using her intellect and theirs, her experience with Muggle jokes and their expertise with wizarding ones – is addictive. At the end of the day, she knows that the real reason she wants to keep her participation secret isn't fear that they won't approve of what she _has_ done; it's fear that they won't approve of what she knows that she will, regardless of their censure, _continue_ to do.

Because nothing could convince her to give up the feeling of elation when all of the pieces fit together or when Fred, one of the best pranksters to ever go through Hogwarts, compliments her on her ideas. As the weeks pass by and they get closer to instigating another prank, she only grows gets more enthralled with the process. It's not hard to see why the twins have always been so obsessed with it when she herself is being reeled into their midst like a fish on a hook.

The sound of the front door swinging open cuts through her thoughts, and she hastily stuffs the pieces of parchment she has been perusing in her pocket. The chances are that it's just Harry, who already knows about her involvement in the Christmas pranks, but she isn't willing to take the risk.

Fortunately, it is indeed Harry who slips into the room and sits down across from her, so she pulls the parchments back out again so they won't get crinkled. "How did the date go?"

"Good. We went to see a play, of all things, but it was much more interesting than I expected."

"Ron wants to meet her, you know."

"Caitlin?" he asks, looking up in confusion. "Why?"

She blinks at him in surprise. "Because you're dating her." None of them have ever had to introduce one another to boyfriends or girlfriends before, seeing as how they have almost exclusively dated people that all three of them already knew, so maybe he just hasn't thought about –

"We're not serious. It's, um, just casual."

It's hard to hide how taken aback she is by that. From what Caitlin has told her, it is clear that their relationship is – while still unofficial – definitely getting serious for her. She is smitten with him, and, from what she has said about their dates, Hermione thought he was just as enamoured with her.

 _Maybe he just isn't ready to admit to having those feelings that again,_ she thinks. _Especially not to people who knew Ginny. It's one thing to start dating again, but it can't be easy for him to fall for someone new._

"Alright," she says slowly, not sure how to respond. "I understand."

Harry, however, is frowning, his uncertainty etched across his face. "Do you think he _should_ meet her?"

"I think it's up to you. He would like to meet her at some point, but he can wait as long as you like."

"I just don't want to make a big deal out of it," he confesses, his voice almost entreating.

Her instincts tell her to drop the matter for the time being. If they're not ready for it, then that's all there is to it; pushing them into something they aren't comfortable with might just make it worse for everybody in the long run. But that last statement could mean he's open to the idea of her helping him work through this, and if so…

"It really is up to the two of you," she says, trying to balance offering suggestions with respecting his uneasiness. "If you aren't ready for it, don't do it. But, if you _are_ , it wouldn't have to be a big thing. We could go out somewhere in two separate groups and just meet up for lunch."

"That might be okay. I'll think about it."

* * *

A/N: I haven't had the chance to write much since uni went back, but I'm hoping to find the time to catch up on it over the next few weeks.


	22. Talk of Holidays

Teddy is thrilled when the news comes that Luna, her father, and Rolf are planning their return to England. In the days leading up to her arrival, he is a mess of excitement, unable to sit still for long before he's off again, running around the house and causing seemingly endless trouble. By the time an owl flies through the window with a letter informing them that they are back on British soil once more, Harry and Hermione are well and truly exhausted from dealing with the young boy's constant energy. But not even fatigue can impede Harry's happiness at the idea of seeing their friend again.

They're having a lazy afternoon, teaching Teddy how to play a new board game, when a low, pleasant buzzing noise alerts them to Luna's arrival on the doorstep. Knowing that Kreacher is up in Regulus' old room, Harry hurries there himself, pulling the door open to let the younger witch in.

A look of surprise flitters across her face as her fist slowly lowers from where it was evidently poised to knock on the cool wood. "Hello."

"The wards let me know you were here," he explains, answering her unspoken question, before stepping forward to hug her. "How was Vietnam?"

Luna gently tightens her arms around him before pulling away. "Excellent. The culture was stunning, and we met so many lovely young people while we were there. We found quite a few native magical creatures while we were there, too, which was a wonderful thrill. I would love to go back someday."

"That sounds fantastic." He isn't aware that what he's feeling is a sense of longing until he catches the undercurrents of it in his words, but by then it's too late to regulate it.

"You should consider going on a holiday, Harry," she advises him, as observant as always. She makes as if to move through the doorway, so he takes a few steps backwards to let her through before closing the door behind her. "Have you ever been overseas before?"

He hesitates. "No."

"Have you ever wanted to?" she asks delicately.

Harry pauses to seriously consider it. It has crossed his mind before, especially when he thought he was going to die, but it has never been something he has had a particular interest in. Still, hearing about Luna's work trips has been filling him with a half-formed curiosity to see some of those places for himself. "Yes," he admits.

"Then you should go."

"I wouldn't know where to start."

"Close your eyes." Despite feeling like a bit of a tosser, he does. "Picture yourself overseas somewhere. Anywhere."

The image of a tropical beach comes to mind. He's lying on the warm sand, watching Teddy line a sandcastle with misshapen shells. Luna is helping him with a soft smile, and Hermione is halfway through a book on the history of werewolves, and the Weasleys are all splashing about on paddleboards in the shallow water. The fresh smell of saltwater settles around them.

"We're on the beach," he says, sensing that she is waiting for him to speak. "It's warm." His eyes open. "The Weasleys were swimming, and Hermione was reading, and you were helping Teddy build a sandcastle."

Luna falls silent for a few moments. "I was there too?"

He nods. "Of course."

"That… Thank you, Harry. That's very sweet of you."

"It's nothing." Shrugging offhandedly, he explains, "I wouldn't want to go overseas if my friends weren't there as well."

An understanding smile tugs at her lips. "I understand. I think about all of you whenever I go away for work."

The idea of Luna travelling to exciting new places yet leaving her thoughts behind with her friends reminds him of the beautiful paintings he saw at her childhood home. "Do you still draw? For fun, I mean, not for work."

"I don't think I'll ever stop."

"Can I see them sometime?" Immediately worried he's overstepping, he adds, "Even just one. If it's alright with you."

She barely even hesitates. "I can bring a sketchbook over tomorrow. I need to see Rolf in the morning to talk about work, but I can come over after that."

Worry niggles away at the edges of his brain, but he pushes it aside. Her phrasing seems a little peculiar to him, but perhaps that's all it is: her phrasing. Besides, Luna has never been one to follow the crowd, so it could very well just be the way she does relationships. He settles with saying, "That sounds great," because he has no idea what else to do.

"Is Teddy home today?" she eventually asks.

"What? Oh. Yeah. Yeah, he is. _Teddy! Luna's here!_ "

An overjoyed shriek and the sound of pattering of feet reverberate through the hallway, and the young Metamorphagus is soon sprinting straight at them. "Luna!" he calls out, rushing into her outstretched arms. "You're back!"

"I am." Her soft laugh tinkles like wind chimes caught in the breeze. "How have you been?"

"Great! Want to see my Christmas presents?"

"Sure. But would you like to open this first?" She pulls an immaculately wrapped parcel out of her pocket and hands it to him. The paper is bright blue, with yellow fireworks bursting into light across it, and a thick red ribbon ties it all together. "I hope you had a very Merry Christmas, Edward Lupin."

* * *

A/N: I hope you all had – or are having – a happy Easter!


	23. The Fair (Part 1)

A/N: I'm so sorry for how long it's been! Life has been hectic – in, for the most part, a good way – and I haven't had much time or energy for writing.

* * *

Hermione laughs as she and Ron amble along the path towards the rendezvous point. Other fairgoers bustle around them on their way to the different attractions, but she feels utterly at peace. After spending the last few weeks cooped up in the library with work, the fresh air and friendly company is utterly reinvigorating.

At first, she was uncertain about Ron's offer to meet up before the event so they could arrive together, but she's glad he talked her into it. Each and every time they interact, a few more of the cracks in their friendship fuse back together again. The scars are still there, and she suspects they always will be, but there are no longer any gaping chasms threatening to swallow them whole. And with that has come a sense of ease; where they once focused on the issues in their relationship, they can now focus on the strengths, and she loves him all the more for it.

"So what's she like?" he asks when Hermione's chortles finally fade into quiet sniggers.

"Caitlin? She's fantastic." She pauses to collect her thoughts before adding, "She's excellent to work with. She's incredibly direct and organised, but she also has a great sense of fun. She doesn't like to do anything without planning it out first, though, so you should probably be mindful of that today."

"Organised and fun to be around but unable to think on her feet? She sounds almost like the _anti_ -Harry," Ron quips.

"Well, yes. I was rather hoping that they would rub off on one another." Seeing the smug smirk on his face, she rolls her eyes. "Not like _that,_ Ronald. Don't be crude."

"I didn't say anything; you worked out what I was thinking all by yourself! What does that say about you?"

"That I know you too well," she says, but they grin at one another with genuine warmth.

Lowering his voice to a whisper, Ron continues, "Jokes aside, they do have _some_ things in common, right? Harry doesn't talk about her much – no matter how much I try to get him to open up about it, he still expects me to be pissed that he's dating again – and it's starting to worry – "

"Hermione! Ron!" Harry's voice cuts through the crowd, startling Hermione into a harsh flinch.

Glancing over at Ron, Hermione notes that he looks just as mortified as she feels. Harry knows they're concerned about him, but he has always been paranoid about the idea of people discussing him behind his back. If he and Caitlin heard their doubts…

She turns to look for them, only to find that they are still several metres away. Despite knowing that the chance of either of them hearing Ron over the loud chatter of the crowd is slim, she has to struggle to force a smile to her lips.

"There you are!" Harry exclaims as the beaming couple reaches them. "I thought we'd never find you. Caitlin, this is Ron Weasley. Ron, Caitlin Morrison."

"It's wonderful to finally meet you," Caitlin gushes, pulling the redhead into a quick hug. "This is going to sound clichéd, but Harry talks about you a _lot_ , so it really does feel like I already know you."

"Pleasure," Ron replies, looking distinctly uncomfortable at his inability to reciprocate the sentiment without lying. "Er, from what I've heard, you're quite an interesting person. I've been looking forward to meeting you for a while now."

"Oh? You have?" Her words sound delicate, but her eyebrow quirks up in accusation as her gaze slides over to Harry.

Looking sheepish, the young wizard rakes a hand through his hair. "When I – "

"Yeah, I have," Ron intercedes, acting as if he hasn't noticed the sudden tension. "It's a shame work has been so busy that I haven't been able to get the time off to meet up before this, but I guess that's life for you."

Harry's eyes light up with gratitude. "See, Caitlin? I told you it was nothing."

"I suppose," Caitlin replies, her voice clipped short with poorly concealed frustration.

Taking the temporary silence as an opportunity to redirect the conversation, Hermione hurries forward to embrace her friend. "Caits, it's been too long since we've been able to catch up outside of the office." After a quick squeeze, she steps back into place beside Ron.

"It really has been. After seeing the progress you've made on your bill, however, it's no wonder you haven't had any spare time. Now that you have to put it on the backburner until the department send you their feedback, we should go out for lunch sometime."

"Definitely."

"Speaking of lunch," Harry interjects, "perhaps we should find something to eat."

"Well, _I'm_ never going to turn down good food," Ron says.


	24. The Fair (Part 2)

Caitlin strides forward so that she is walking next to him. "Why don't you tell me a bit about yourself? I know what Harry and the media say, but they're biased." At his stunned look, she adds, "The whole point of this is for us to get to know each other, isn't it? So why not just get straight to the point?"

Hermione sneaks a glance at Harry, worried at how he might take the other witch's bluntness after their little tiff. To her surprise, he seems unaffected by it. Since he isn't a good enough liar to be able to pull that off so smoothly, she has to accept that he genuinely doesn't mind.

"Yeah. Yeah, I guess it is. Well, I don't really know what to say. I went to Hogwarts with Harry and Hermione before the war, but – as you probably know – none of us went back for our NEWTs. I love anything relating to games, particularly Quidditch and chess. And I'm currently working with my brothers at their joke shop, Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes."

"You're in retail? I've heard it can be a tough gig."

"For now, I am. I'm starting to get into the swing of it, but I'm not sure if I want to do it long term." He glances at Hermione before adding, his voice tentative, "I was going to resign, but I think I'll stick it out for a bit longer first."

She avoids his gaze. They might be rebuilding their friendship again, but some things are still – and may always be – too uncomfortable to talk about. And _that_ fight is chief among them.

"What else are you be interested in?"

"I'm not sure. That's the problem."

"Have you thought about applying for the Department of Magical Games and Sports? I know the Auror Office didn't work out, but that doesn't mean another branch of the Ministry wouldn't."

Tilting her head to the side, Hermione mulls over her friend's words. It isn't where she would have thought he would end up, but she can almost picture it – he could do well there. His fame could only help with liaising with foreign bodies, and he does know his games inside and out. He might not feel comfortable returning to the Ministry, at least at the moment, but she could see it turning out alright if he gave it a chance.

"Yeah," Ron replies, scepticism lacing his tone and squashing her growing hope. "Maybe."

"I think you'd be good at it," Harry chimes in. "And it'd be nice to have you back at the Ministry again."

"I'll think about it," Ron says, but his words are a dismissal.

She bites her tongue to keep herself from replying. Once upon a time, she would have jumped in to tell him it was a wonderful idea, and the conversation would have ended with them both fuming at one another. _I'll talk to him about it once he has had a few days to process the idea on his own,_ she decides.

Two hours later, as Ron and Hermione walk off in a different direction to Harry and Caitlin, Ron tells her, "Caitlin seems nice; a little forceful, but nice. But is it just me, or were things tense between them?"

Sighing, she leans her head against his shoulder. "It's not just you. It's _really_ not just you."

He waits until they leave the park to admit, "This is one time when I was kind of hoping it was."

* * *

A/N: I usually see Hermione as having gone back to complete school, but I think this version – one who lost one of her closest friends in the battle – wouldn't have been able to deal with the memories.


	25. Understanding

"George couldn't make it today," Fred explains, slipping into the seat beside her. "He had to finish up some things at the shop. Hope you don't mind just getting the smarter twin this time."

Hermione smiles in relief. It feels as if she's drawn to him like a magnet, adjusting her position and her actions to reflect his – and George has been getting a little too perceptive lately. Widening her eyes, she says as innocently as she can, "But I thought you said George isn't coming."

He stares at her for a moment, shock written across his face, before bursting into rancorous laughter. "Prat."

"It's your influence," she teases. "Mum always warned me – " She breaks off, surprised by the force of emotion that hits her. She has long since reconciled herself to the fact that her parents are off living in Australia, happy in their little world with manufactured memories, with no recollection of her or of even having ever wanted a child. In their minds, children are a loveable hassle that they would never want for themselves.

"Yeah?" Fred prompts her, his voice uncharacteristically soft.

"My mum always warned me not to get involved with troublemakers," she manages to choke out, all traces of her previous good humour fled and gone. "She said she wouldn't be there to guide me at school and that I needed to befriend people who would never steer me wrong."

With a sad smile, Fred loops his arm around her shoulders, pulling her in towards him until her head rests against his chest. "I think you need to accept that you're surrounded by troublemakers who might steer you wrong but would never hurt you, Granger." His words themselves are curt, but his tone tempers them.

 _He understands,_ she thinks. _I don't have to explain._

But her relief is soon diverted with another emotion. Her heart leaps at the sound of her surname coming from his lips. It has been so long since he has called her that, and it sends her right back to her fifth year, when she struggled equally with being repulsed by his actions and attracted to his intelligence and casual charm. This time, however, it feels different, because it builds off their newfound trust and camaraderie and somehow becomes so much more. "I know. I stopped worrying about that back in first year when I realised that the business with Fluffy and the philosopher's stone fell into the troublemaking category but that was worth it anyway. It's just… I miss them. I miss them being here, and I miss talking to them, and I miss the idea of introducing them to people who are important in my life."

She doesn't want to say it aloud – it doesn't seem appropriate – but she also misses the fact that she will never be able to introduce them to a boyfriend or discuss relationship problems with them. They met Ron, and they knew she fancied him, but that was long before the pair started dating. They met Viktor, but the pair had already broken up by that point. And, in the future, she won't even have the memory of a poorly timed meeting to placate her. She will never have the chance to take a boy home to her parents.

They will never meet Fred Weasley.

"I didn't talk to them much, but they seemed like wonderful people. A little preoccupied by everything, but who wouldn't have been?"

Her head jerks up in shock. "What did you say?"

"They seemed nice," he replies. "Er, when I met them at Diagon Alley?"

"I forgot... I forgot you met them."

"Er, yeah?" His eyebrow flicks up as he watches her expectantly.

"I – I'm glad you did," she explains, no longer caring if she's playing her hand too early. "I'm glad you had the chance to meet them."

"So am I."

Neither of them speak. There just isn't anything more to say. Instead, they sit there in silence, enjoying the stillness and the peace until, eventually, they draw apart and return to their work, shooting one another smiles and glances of understanding and promise throughout the rest of the morning.


	26. Conversing

She leaves the library feeling melancholic but excited. The gloomy mood spurred on from the discussion about her parents won't leave her alone, yet she still, somewhat contradictorily, feels abuzz after the meeting.

And she knows why.

 _Fred_.

Despite her teenage fascination with him, she has never really seen him as a potential boyfriend. He has always been too flashy, too risky, too fast-paced. Even over the recent years, as they grew into close friends, she didn't expect anything to happen. Respect for him has always been there, as has mild interest and attraction, but she has always known it to be nothing more than a trivial musing of possibility and left it be. She loved Ron, after all, back then, and her feelings for him swamped her awareness of Fred by a hundredfold.

 _Now,_ however… Now that she is no longer infatuated with Ron, those feelings have had the space to blossom or wilt on their – and Fred's – own merit. They might not yet be at full bloom, but the rosebud has almost finished growing, and she knows that it won't take long for the petals to start unfurling if they continue on as they have been.

She only needs to decide whether she wants to nurture it, giving it the sunlight and nutrients it needs to flourish, or pluck it out at the roots while it still dwells more in the realm of the potential than of actuality.

The image of Fred's face staring at her in impressed awe forces itself to the forefront of her mind, bringing an unwitting fond smile to her face. _He called me a natural. He said it was like I was born to do it, once I'd gotten past my inhibitions. He let me explain Camus and absurdity and dualism to him and then discussed it all with me._

It might be too late for her to weed out the flower.

Instead of filling her with dread, however, that just elevates her mood even higher, and she can't stop smiling as she spends the rest of the afternoon running errands. She's still beaming when she finally returns home, stepping through the front door of Grimmauld Place with groceries in hand.

Harry isn't due home for another hour, and Teddy is spending the night with his grandmother, so she fiddles around with the radio until she finds her favourite station. The deep bass voice fills the kitchen as she starts to unpack her shopping bags. " _Down hills and over gullies, through hearts and up cliffs, that's how the thestrals run. And so the thestrals run."_

"That doesn't even make sense. How do thestrals run 'through _hearts_ '?"

Recoiling, Hermione turns and grabs for her wand, dropping the cabbage on the bench in her haste. " _Harry_?"

" _Wow_ ," he says, mirth dancing in his vivid green eyes. "And people say _I_ overreact."

"After everything we've been through, you're seriously going to say that it's an overreaction to not like being snuck up on?"

At least he manages to look contrite at that. "Sorry. I honestly thought you knew I was home." Gesturing to the remaining groceries, he adds, "Do you want some help with that?"

"Please." As they settle into unpacking together, she asks, "I thought you were going over to Caitlin's after work."

He hesitates. "I was, but we decided to postpone until next week. We, er, both have a lot of work to do tonight."

The adrenaline still pumping through her blood after the scare pushes her forward. "Harry, I really think we need to talk about Caitlin. She… She seems much more invested in your relationship than you are. I'm afraid one – or both – of you are going to get hurt."

Harry's face twitches as his fist tightens around a bag of mushrooms. "And what about you and Fred?" he deflects. "I've seen the way you look at him. Don't pretend there isn't anything there."

"Alright," she says, rising to meet the challenge head-on. It still feels too fragile to talk about, as if exposing it to public scrutiny might shatter its glass veneer, but if that's what it takes, then that's what it takes. "What do you want to know? We're friends. We've been spending a lot of time together lately. I fancy him. I doubt anything will ever come of it – there's Ron to consider, and the twins have always treated both of us like extra siblings – but I don't deny that I like him."

"Oh." He hesitates, eyes wide, and she can tell that he doesn't know what to do with that onslaught of information. "Well, for what it's worth, I think you're wrong about the twins. I don't think Fred has ever seen you as a sister. More like a sometimes-annoying girl with the potential to either be a foil or a comrade."

"Thanks, but that doesn't mean he sees me as anything other than a friend. And that's okay," she adds continues before he can offer her any false platitudes. "Feelings don't lose their value just because they're not reciprocated. If he never returns my interest, it might hurt, but I won't regret fancying him."

"Because we're human," he says, "and love is both our greatest weapon and our greatest defence."

"Yes." Sometimes, he sounds so like Dumbledore that it hurts. The wise old wizard was as flawed as they come, but the knowledge that he was fallible doesn't take away the pain of his passing. "Dumbledore would have been proud of you, Harry."

She expects him to be embarrassed, maybe even flattered, but his expression darkens. "I'm not so sure he would be. I know things aren't right with Caitlin. I like her, and being with her helps, but I can't be anything more at the moment. Not with anyone. Even just thinking about it makes me feel like I need to throw up. I feel horrible about it, because I know she wants more, but I just can't."

"Okay," Hermione replies, drawing the word out to buy herself more time. Sighing, she casts a quick spell so that the rest of the groceries will sort themselves out on their own. She prefers to do it manually, relishing in the reminder of shopping trips with her parents when she was little, but she can tell that the conversation is going to require her full attention.

"Does that make me a bad person?"

"Harry, _no_ ; don't you dare let me hear you thinking that way again. Have you been honest to Caitlin about how you feel?"

"Yes."

"Then she is an adult who can make her own decisions about whether or not what you're offering her is enough. You need to be aware that she is more invested in this than you are so you don't lead her on, but if she's agreeing to this as well – "

"She is," he interrupts quickly, eagerly, as if her reassurance is a lifejacket that he's desperate to wrap himself in.

" – it's because she's making an informed decision. If it gets too much for her, she won't hesitate to walk away." _She's like Ginny like that,_ she thinks, but she knows that pointing that out will just make things worse.

Oblivious as always, Harry smiles in relief. "Thank you. But when I said we postponed our date so we could get some work done, I wasn't entirely lying… Do you want to work together in the library until Andromeda brings Teddy back?"

"It depends. Will I need to hound you to keep on track like I did at Hogwarts?"

When he laughs and assures her that he can keep himself motivated these days, she knows that she has succeeded in giving him another reprieve from the demons that haunt him. She can only hope that, one day, he will find the power to vanquish them for good.

* * *

A/N: Writing wizarding lyrics is surprisingly fun.


End file.
